Winter's Temper

Ok therapy session yesterday...he wants me to start keeping a mood diary again. What a pain in the rear end therapists are...

It's warm enough this morning to let Max out early, and leave the unicorn meat eating cats' window open.  I am eagerly watching the trees now to see the colors change, and the bones of the trees and fields come out. This is the time of year when the Queen changes straight from her coronation robes, to her mourning habit.

Tiny yellow flowers are blooming in the grass, as well as the zinnia, which are more salmon colored than ever. The orange and cream colored blossoms stand in compliment to the turquoise in the pool and the fields are slowly changing to their winter mantle of gold. The slate walk outside my door is darkening, and the flowers that grow between them have long since stopped appearing; dark green leaves are left against white gravel the slate is set in. And the gray morning has the tint of orange that warns us of coming storms.

I have never lived in a large city, and do not know if city dwellers experience the change in the seasons as we do. But, particularly for me, who has lived in the country for most of my life, the seasons' change occurs not only in the palette of the fields and stones and trees, but in the scents and colors that drift on the wind. A difference in the very quality of the air itself can be felt on the cheek when I go out in the morning, more misty and tranquil. And it is only in this season that I can stand on the edge of the day and long for wings, the better to take the winter's temper...