Winter dresses in grey here. When I was younger, I thought the bland greys of winter were ugly, a thing to be endured until the Earth turned her colors back on. These days, I adore the winter landscapes of my home region. I see beautiful lines and textures, and even colors, in the bare neutrality of the trees and the tan stubbled grey fields, and in last years pale reeds standing guard over the low spots. It's a subtle beauty. And that is why I missed it before.

When I was younger, I didn't notice subtle things, and I didn't produce subtle things. My cooking was overseasoned and poorly executed. My writings and my artwork strained under the weight of trying to be more than they were. My relationships were based on whatever grabbed me first about the person I was with. There was little depth to my thought, and everything I touched came out badly.

A little while ago, I was looking out the back window, looking between the houses, watching the light fade against the trees in the distance, and that is what inspired me to say these things now. I realize it is a bit out of the normal tone of this blog, but I didn't have anyone else to say it to.