The last few months I walked at lunch down the bike path in Lexington, MA.   Many winter days were cold and windy, but the trees looked alive and full – snowy rather than leafy green.  Sunlight blazed off the white landscape.

A few days ago we had a mild early spring day, about 50.  Snow had been melting all week.   I noticed when I left my yard how muddy it looked, brown, worn out, and tired.  The fall leaves, which I allow to cover my plants to warm them under the snow in the winter, were now naked again, rotting, and drab.  During my walk I was amazed to realize that this point of transition from winter to spring, although warmish and evocative of spring, was disappointingly colorless.

The winter days were cold, but brilliant and invigorating.  The budding spring, when it’s warm and sunny, is simply marvelous.   But the in-between space…..  It was gray, and I had to work my mind hard to remember the jumping off point, and where I would land after crossing the desert.  Perhaps the grayness of the day fooled me, and made the past look better, as Egypt did to the children of Israel as they crossed the desert.   Perhaps I need to question my notion of beauty, and look for a way to appreciate the crossing itself.