Winter to Mother Nature is a season of minimalism. The colour palette has different shades of grey with tinges of pale green here and there. Occasionally, dollops of fresh, bright colours appear in the form of dahlias in my garden. My garden is a small one; comfortable, cosy place with not many trees or flower around. But, even then, the old, seasoned, intransigent winter has begun to mark its presence quite distinctly.
The periwinkle has lost its lustre. The flowers nod their heads involuntarily with the North wind as if they are dancing in a desultory fashion. The enigmatic violet/pinkish hue has been replaced by pale pink. The roses are behaving like demures, no longer their delicate petals are romping in joy. The glistening green of leaves are heavy with a shade lighter. The branches of the bigger trees are forming geometric patterns intersecting each other; barren, bare branches, devoid of foliage. Winter’s on the way.
In this part of the globe, as winter approaches, the distinct line between afternoon and evening gradually fades away. The morning starts late as the sleepy sun appears behind the diaphanous curtain of fog, the greyish-blue sky sometimes exudes warmth and comfort as the sun rises higher up, then suddenly, just after the noon the light begins to fade away. Soon, the greyish, foggy evening takes over making the sun effete.
It is particularly this time of the day I know not why I feel melancholic. That the earth is so quickly wearing her evening robe, makes me saddened. Winer is a hubristic hermit. It never feels attracted to the aestival beauties and, it enervates the verdant world with its steely, cold stare.
Lo and behold, brace yourself, winter is on the way.