Perhaps the cones in my retinas are hypersensitive and my threshold for the detection of color is lower than that of the average human. Or perhaps psychologically I'm projecting hues where there are none (or few) in the environment. Maybe it could be attributed to an artistic sensibility...
In any case, for me, this winter landscape (well, technically late autumn landscape) is not nearly as bleak and grey as others seem to perceive it. When there's snow people will become appreciative of its color, texture, its reflective and luminescent qualities, and of the way it lays over the land - but until it falls from the sky it appears as if blazing autumn has desensitized them to the beauty of their world, dulled their senses to subltety and variation. And many of those same people are then in such a fearful rush to replace the bold palette of turning leaves with tropical pointsettas, plastic holly berries, lush conifers. It's as if there is some instinctive fear of seeing winter as it is. It has become almost a cultural compulsion, a way of forcing ourselves to look perpetually foreword to spring with its bright green new growth and to summer with its dark green canopy. Other than pretty snowflakes and happy Yule/Christmas decorations, winter can essentially be skipped over. Gods forbid we actually look around, and Gods further forbid that we might actually like what we have seen!
This is not to say that spring, summer, and autumn should not be appreciated, and that snow and holiday decorations cannot be beautiful. I myself enjoy all of those things, but I cannot help feeling that one is at a huge loss if she obsesses over them at the expense of under-appreciating winter.
· originally posted to sphinxmuse