Bittersweet

The misty dawn blushed a soft, rosy pink, probably embarrassed by the number of clichés it was inviting. It had begun with a delicate glow, suffusing the rising mist with gold as I shivered on the doorstep, then painted the world in pastel colours, as gentle as an apology. As the sun rose, the temperature plummeted, the swirling mists turned to fog and you could almost see the ice crystals forming. Another Monday morning was born…

The sudden frost highlighted every detail of plants still resolutely green, each strand of spider silk and the edge of every fallen leaf. The ordinary became beautiful. Details that are overlooked a hundred times a day were limned in crystal and became unmissable… yet, but for necessity, I would have taken the option of comfort, stayed warm indoors and seen nothing. As I scraped the ice from the windscreen of the car, I was once again struck by how simple it is to learn the lessons of life by observing Nature at work. My own experience of the morning was one of frozen fingers and yet, the bitter frost served only to highlight a beauty that might otherwise have been missed.

Necessity and inevitability so often lead us into bitter and painful situations, but without them as a contrast, would we…could we…truly appreciate all that is right in our world? Would we notice a dawn if the sky always wore the colours of sunrise or do we need to experience darkness in order to understand the essence of light? Looking around too, I noted that while some plants were still green and would remain so in spite of the coming cold of winter, others were sere and brittle, giving every appearance of being mere skeletons of the vibrant life they once wore. Yet here too, Nature teaches, for beneath the soil, those brittle bones wait only for spring to grow once more… different in appearance, perhaps, but still essentially the same.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She has written a number of books, both alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com
This entry was posted in consciousness, Life, Love, Photography, symbolism, The Silent Eye and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Bittersweet

  1. Pingback: Bittersweet – The Militant Negro™

  2. Widdershins says:

    I think She does. 😀

    Like

  3. I LOVE your opening paragraph. It is absolutely elegant writing, a perfect mixture of sentimental and anti-sentimental.

    Our world too seems to have gone from summertime warm to winter time chill overnight. My only objection to all of this is I have a new, lined, denim jacket that it was too warm to wear last week –and will be too cold to wear tomorrow. I ask you … is that fair? I deserve an in-between season. We all do. We have been having 70 degree days and 30 degree nights. I don’t know weather I should open the windows or put on my wool socks.

    Would we appreciate the beautiful hours if we didn’t have the dark ones? I don’t know. But I would really love to give it a try.

    Like

    • Sue Vincent says:

      Thanks, Marilyn. Yes, the weather is being weird again. Most days, I’m, not even wearing a coat…then next day, it freezes.

      I’m not sure I would want to take the risk of being less appreciative. But I’m not sure I need reminding of the contrast quite so often 😉

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s