This is the time of year when I miss this kind of color.  Painters see all kinds of colors in the bleak mid-winter.  I see brown.  Often I feel brown, gray, black.  I want to live in Hawaii, or St. Barthelemy or San Miguel de Allende.  At least for a few weeks each year would be ideal.

The problem for me with winter is that I tune out of the details.  I don’t see them in the bleak wintery dark.  No individual little blades of grass, or single petals of a flower, or intricate little spider webs, no delicious bird songs, or soft warm air on my skin.  Am I a sensualist?  You betcha.

So I have given myself an assignment, to find something different to notice in great detail every day.  Today, I savored my ride on the big Friesian, Sanne.  I noticed how finely soft I could become with the reins, how sensitive my leg could be, how I could feel his warmth and the texture of his coat even through my boot.  I kissed his nose over and over as if it were a bouquet of lilies.  The warm fragrance of his breath, the intense softness of the space between his nostrils.

Yesterday I got very detailed about a cup of tea – the specific shape of the lip of the cup on my lips, the feeling of the handle, the temperature, the way I picked it up and put it down, the layers of taste within the tea.

What did you notice today?