Winter Show

I’m not fond of several aspects of winter: the cold, the long nights, the relative lack of wildlife and birds.

But these past few weeks, I’ve discovered something, a bonus that makes me a little more tolerant of the lengthening night (and the end of Daylight Saving Time).

When I step outside after a day of work, I’m facing west and I’m confronted by a sunset. The nearby buildings and trees aren’t tall enough to block it. I can’t bury my face in a book or hide inside four walls because I have to walk to my car if I want to get home.

In other words, I can’t miss it.

So I stop. I stare. I marvel.

The sun has usually just gone away, leaving a bright flare of yellow, orange and peach. Above my head are the clouds, which come in all shapes and, more importantly, colors. They’re white, gray, light blue, purple, yellow. They’re edged with orange, pink, purple and dark blue as the sunlight reaches out before slipping over the horizon. If I’m lucky, the display is accented by the sliver of a pale moon.

I stand there in awe as co-workers scurry past me, rushing to the comfort of their cars. I don’t even realize my breath is visible or my hands are going numb.

Winter is a time of neutral colors: white, gray, brown. But she has a few tricks up her sleeve, and this one is magical.

By the time I get home, it’s usually dark and the colors are gone. But they live on in my memory, enough to hold me until the next day when the show begins again.

There will be sunsets in the spring and summer, but I’ll most likely miss them.

Right now I have no choice, and I’m glad.

Here’s to beauty in unlikely places and times.