colour

I live in eastern Canada. Aside from the occasional intrepid pine needle peeking out from under snow, this city has been colourless fully seven months. Finally, we are seeing green. And the thing with green here is that it's not the slow, mist-on-the-bushes green that happens in other, warmer places. Here you wake up one morning and the leaves are a centimetre long. Yesterday they were barely bumps. Tomorrow they will be three times longer. There's no time to dally, we're careening toward the solstice at breakneck speed and every spring we're behind schedule.

The flower shop I walk past has exploded in orange fireworks of birds-of-paradise, Easter lilies a distant memory. Red and orange coats are showing up, and I've even seen a couple in lime green...and tonight I saw the most heartening rainbow umbrella, each wedge a different colour. Its owner was complaining that it was too big and too bright; I wish I had said what I was thinking: I loved her umbrella.

When you live without colour for too long, you can either embrace it or fear it--I think most people here do a little of both. They like the idea of colour, but when confronted with the chance to wear it, they become skittish. I see a lot of black in the centre of this government town.

Time to take a cue from the flowers, I say. We're short on time, we're rushing through life--let's enjoy it. Wear something bright, take a chance. Maybe people will like it. Maybe you'll like it. You never know.