Yesterday the color was snow. White and pristine, missing at Christmas but present for my daughter's birthday on Epiphany, another holy day. We took the train to Boston along with my sister in icy cold air and soft flurries to celebrate my daughter.
And oh the things we did ...a companionable lunch high above the city streets, a little bit of shopping, people-watching and then home to join husbands and family for cake and iced cream. A full day of bumping shoulders with my daughter and sister and taking inspiration and energy from the city.
This is an annual trek which signals my personal end of the holidays - once January 6th passes, I finally store the ribbons and paper that clutter my wrapping corner. We do indulge in some of the sales - I found an irresistible ballet-pink wool muffler, two small lacy gold picture frames, and a box of snowy candles that will look lovely in the crystal candlesticks on my mantel which have been vacant since the red ones burned to stubs on Christmas Eve.
My joy was watching my daughter's blond head hovered above the crowd in her attractive chalk-white down coat - she was the picture of winter. And as all of her birthdays do, they make me feel a little nostalgic with a stark reminder that time is passing really fast now. Last year marked the "crossover" birthday which means she has been a presence in my life longer than the years I lived before her. That says something, doesn't it?
Daughters are a fine thing - sons too, I am assured by my sister. But may I just say that my daughter's chroma is from vivid kaleidoscope hues that transform in ever-changing sequences? Her chic look yesterday may have mirrored the day's fairy-scape, but she is the color in my world.