Beneath

I was looking out the window over a bowl of salad, not interested in food or anything really, just letting my eyes and mind go, when I noticed the shade of the sky. What color is that, I wondered, how could I describe it? Pearl, or mother of pearl, the softest pink, white really, with a soft blush stealing into it, perhaps the color of the first light, the first dawn, when the sky awoke and opened her eyes, before she tried on any other colors in her closet.

I wouldn't have noticed it except for the pure white of the snow, or I wouldn't have noticed the pure white of the snow but for the tint of the sky. Snow covered the trees, clinging to them, white spreading in a wide swath. When I looked out I saw a spilt color scheme or palette, half white, half blush. The darkness of tree bark extending into the woods, up to the point where the white hill rises beyond the swamp, in that light the darkness of the bark seemed mauve or a sweet shade of grey. Not dull grey, but a grey with hope in it. And beneath it all, like the bass line of a song, scarcely noticeable unless you listen for it, beneath the white was the deep green of pine needles and mountain laurel leaves.

Black and white flashed as chickadees stretched their wings, batting them like eyelashes. The fluttering of wings was the only movement in the scene before me until great sugar flakes began falling, drifting lazily as if they had nothing better to do then keep their appointment with the earth. Soft they fell. Slowly. They touched me. They insinuated themselves gently into the place that feeds on such things. The snowflakes, color and wings softened me like water on sandstone and filled me with... aahhh.

For a few minutes my mind dwelled on sweetness, wanting more. A cow's soft eyes. The picture in my mind of a girl sleeping on the ground at the fair, curled into the belly of her pet cow, it's head and neck drawn around her protectively. A spotted fawn that I saw last summer, tearing around the field during every thunder and lightning storm. My mind traveled to the ocean, to freedom and sun soaking my skin, though it remained there only a moment before the snow began to plummet, searing the sky which had turned into a flat ceiling, hard as concrete board, its sole purpose to pour frozen sadness on the world.

The sweetness was forgotten and the other came back. Computer crashes, stuck cars, too much noise, irritation. I pushed my chair back, stood and picked my salad bowl up. I frowned out at the white walled view. And paused.

Beneath it all, just visible if I didn't look at it directly, if I looked through slightly narrowed eyes and partly through my mind's eye; beneath lay a layer of deep green.