Splash of color brings thoughts of brighter days ahead

The other morning, just as I have for weeks now, I awoke to the sound of a voice on the radio in a darkened room.

I put my head under the comforter for another few minutes before I got out of bed and walked through the shadowy house to get a cup of coffee. I picked up the newspaper and opened the curtains to peer out into a dense gray fog.

After my coffee, black, lightened with just a drop of cream, and a first read of the news, I walked over to my closet and opened the door. And there it was: My mid-winter uniform.

Rows of black turtlenecks – black wool turtlenecks, black silk turtlenecks, a favorite black cashmere turtleneck – hanging all in a row on padded hangers. Beside them were black skirts, gray skirts, black and gray tweed skirts. A black wool coat and a black leather jacket were hanging there, too.

Black shoes, flats, heels, pumps and boots, were lined up on shelves. Black tights, something dark and sensible to bridge the distance between the long skirts and tall boots, were tucked into a drawer.

Well, no wonder, I thought. No wonder I feel a little dark.

It happens every winter. I get into a routine, led by slushy streets and misty mornings, and I begin to fade into my surroundings. Then one morning late in February, after the holiday lights have come down and the valentine hearts have been put away, when I don’t have a holiday to remind me to wear something red, I take a good long look at myself and I’m surprised to see that I’ve lost all color. I’ve faded into an old movie with nothing much brighter than shades of gray.

I stood there a minute, considering the state of my wardrobe, tempted to put on something bright and cheerful, but the best I could do was choose instead a brown turtleneck and a brown and white skirt. I looked a lot like the cup of coffee I’d just finished.

Not a big improvement, but the seed was planted.

Suddenly, just as I do every year in the last weeks of winter, just before spring breaks through, I want to put on something pink. Not hot pink, or bright pink but something in between. Sunrise pink. Seashell pink. Soft and fair as the delicate whorls of a newborn’s ear, pink.

That’s how I know that winter is almost over and spring is just around the corner.

I see women wearing pastels. A co-worker brings a vase of tulips to decorate her desk. Occasionally, not as often as I would like, but occasionally, the sun breaks through the clouds to tint the sky with a kiss of color.

The streets are still a mess. And the sky is still as heavy as lead. But eventually spring will bloom

And before I know it, I’ll bloom again, too.

I’ll be in the pink.