March: Fragments of Color

Brown, brown, green, brown. A weary eye scans over a dull landscape, beckoning vibrancy. Paltry brown, overcast gray, sparse evergreen. Soon?, I ask. Soon?

          I awake to their breezy song, the cardinals and the blue jays. Rapid chirp and airy flute, whizzing by my window, pausing on rusty rhododendron. They have been here all winter, I remind myself.

         My farmers market bag radiates against my gray carseat. Purple turnips and red radish and rainbow carrots. Shiso, deep purple on one side and forest green on the other, nestled against verdant pea shoots. Kabocha the color of Calendula. Today I thank the farmers, for reminding me of what has always been there.

         The first blossoms in Walnut, North Carolina: Cherry Blossoms opening in roadside discretion. I walk home and rearrange the bakery: new art, all greens and blues and faint reds, in conversation with milky oats and hyssop hanging from the ceiling. Light filtered through the windows highlights the dried pantry of last year’s peppers and flowers, their faded colors feeling a bit more saturated. I light a fire in the oven, slowly warming the bricks for this weekend’s workshop, the first of the year.

          Sunlight twinkles on the Laurel River’s blue-green depths. Many of us are walking alongside it with spring in our step, or basking in the sunlight, or dipping toes in frigid water. The last golden rays tangible before the sun dips behind the mountains. The Laurels seem ready to burst. Soon, the Spruce Tips; soon, the Trilliums. Soon.