It’s been overcast and rainy this month, which has me a little hungry for light and color. I’ve been going through old photos, thinking how MUCH color I seemed to have noticed while we were traveling. A place like India makes it easy. But it also makes me wonder what it is about our own houses and spaces that causes us to stop seeing or appreciating the shades of things we’ve brought inside. The familiar comforts, yet it erases too, if we’re not careful.
I was thinking about our first summer at the fishsite, when the cabin was just a frame, the weather was cold, fishing was heavy, and we were coming to understand that we had five years worth of projects on that summer’s list: insulating, plumbing, putting in a kitchen, flooring, windows, steps. We were discouraged. I was lonesome. It wasn’t an easy season. But I’ve never appreciated my gardening attempts as much as I did that July when the first flowers bloomed.
Here’s my painter-friend Amy visiting Uyak a few years ago.
When she posted this photo of her desk the other day, she noted: ‘beginning again’
That ran through my head all day.
Each morning, beginning again. And throughout the day, remembering to appreciate the beauty around me, railing a little less against winter’s dark and grayness. When I’m tired, or short tempered, or grumpy: letting it go and beginning again.