I was talking with a friend the other day about the seasons when I realized I am craving color in the landscape. As much as I have grown to love the muted palette of winter with its shadowy violets and cool bark tones, what I am missing is bright. Like hot-pink bougainvillea blossom bright. Or golden zinnia or tomato red. As I thought more about this, and looked around outside, I realized that in the absence of summer flowers, jewel green grass and warm blue skies, the only really brightly colored natural things in winter are the birds:
Of course birds are here year-round, but in the winter, against a canvas of taupe and grey, they are the quite truly the brightest spots in my natural world.