Further evidence of how far we have fallen since COVID: this was a recent cleaning outfit when I was in Boston preparing for a visit from Kira. A pair of ridiculously-red underwear and the top of a velour track-suit, because I was too lazy to be bothered pulling up the matching pants. Picture this going up and down a ladder taking down holiday curtains last month, and you have the illustrative embodiment of a tortured winter.
The nonsensical match-up looked questionably striking against the bedding that’s currently in the bedroom, so I paused to capture the scene. Winter is so drab one wants for a pop of color, and if that comes from the underwear drawer then so shall it be.
These photos are mostly for my amusement, and a bit of a tentative step back into my comfort zone (which has traditionally been walking around in my underwear). Lately I’ve felt a bit of the old creative process stirring again, that sublime time when the world whispers of a new project on the distant horizon, and hints of themes and ideas are found at every turn. The haze of this winter has been dissipating somewhat of late, perhaps a little on the early side, but it keeps me going. For the most part, I’ve been quietly embracing these winter days, taking them slowly, one by one, and suddenly we are in mid-February – half-way through the shortest month of the year (plus a leap-year day).
It felt like springtime on this February morning…
Such winds carry the first inkling of spring with them, and the merest whiff of that fine season is enough to thrill and set the heart to hurried motion. And so I forego the black and gray wardrobe I’d adopted these past few months, and try on something colorful, something silly, something to elicit joy even if I’m the only one who ever sees it.
