All the colors are of love.

I don't like to be cold. In fact, let it suffice to say that if I knew I had to live through an eternal winter, I'd rather not live at all. My muscles seize and my blood vessels constrict to create a persistent numbing effect in my toes. My face scrunches and scowls instinctively against the persistent chill, which penetrates my psyche, making room for discontent and ugliness to nestle in where happiness usually resides. Winter's venomous bite doesn't just kill my spirit, it relegates sunshine to the farthest edges of the Earth, leaving my skin chapped and begging for color, my body yearning for Vitamin D. Such deprivation bears spontaneous moments of heavy melancholy, a deep sense of restlessness and incessant discomfort. I feel lost, always tired. I'm even a little sad sometimes, like I've suffered a loss. It's a rare breed of homesickness, this Seasonal Affective Disorder, and my soul is a sad little camper, cold and whimpering for the Sun to come pick her up.
But I digress, I shouldn't be so melodramatic. This winter has been the coldest and snowiest in recent memory, and I am poised to emerge from it with my emotional well-being and physical health intact. There were even days that some twisted masochistic impulse came over me and I ventured out, wide-eyed and eager to immortalize the snow day at shutter speed. I enjoyed the momentary delight of being concealed under six layers of clothing and various forms of wrap and cover. My eyes marveled at the the landscape, newly upholstered in sparkling white cushions. My senses were lulled by the muffled hush of the wind, which failed to rustle the trees that slept in icy cocoons. Even while nursing my parched skin, withered and scaly from gusts of dry air, it is hard to deny that a small appreciation for this season has coaxed its way in to my heart.
Though not completely soured on this year's vicarious trip to the Arctic, I do find it difficult to mend the shreds of motivation and patch the holes of inspiration. When a hunger pang incites volumes of fantastic dinner ideas, the hassle of layering up and trudging through sludge in the grocery store lot is enough for me to settle on a grilled cheese. When I am determined to write a paper or study for an exam, a single gaze out the window at that menacing grey sky makes me sigh and crumple over my own fleeting enthusiasm. A few successful dates with winter are not enough to carry me through. My little routines, the familiarity of my things and my space, the few places I can count on to feel warm and find happiness, those keep my mind grounded and my smile in shape.
Today, despite my best intentions of reading and studying, my concentration is overturned by the restlessness of another dreary day spent cornered on the couch by the space heater. Searching for anything to settle this attention deficit, I have been mindlessly checking my favorite internet haunts; Facebook first, of course, followed by school email and assignment boards, then the news outlets; CNN, The New York Times, NPR. After skimming pages all morning, my vision finally fixed on an image that inspired a little smile to curl up toward my weary eyes, two Indian girls dancing, their faces painted in swirls of pink and green.

The Arts & Life article on NPR.org went on to offer a recipe for a sunshine yellow curry dish to honor the Indian holiday, Holi. Known as the Festival of Colours, people of all Indic faiths and castes celebrate the coming of Spring by painting their skin in colored powders, eating vibrantly colored meals, engaging in revelrous water balloon fights, throwing bonfires in recognition of the triumph of light over dark, good over evil. The celebration begins in the days leading up to the last full moon of the concluding winter month, which marks the first day of Spring. This year, Holi falls on March 1st, tomorrow.
Finally, a little inspiration. Though our Spring is marked by the Vernal Equinox on March 20, I'm going to take a little self-serving liberty on this one and count myself in on the Holi spirit. I'm reanimated by the enthusiasm of this holiday, driven by a sense of renewal and celebration rather than our Western practicality, not just another day on the calendar. Holi is about reconnecting with nature after the long dead winter, ringing in the Spring blossoms by coating yourself and your loved ones in their pigment. Engaging the senses with intense spice, electrifying color, overwhelming love, and the heat and magic of fire... That is how I want to bid the winter months adieu.
And so, tomorrow calls for a brush of Salamander eyeshadow across my hopeful lids, a pout transformed by Beetroot gloss, and a wardrobe that harkens the blooms from their buds. The kitchen will be filled with mustard, tumeric, ginger, and cumin to awaken my senses, and every candle in the house will flicker with the reminder that the light, she is a comin'. I don't care if the wind assaults my Spring invitational with a 30 degree flurry, I'll remember my photographic friends in India who dance and sing over bonfires, painted in Mother Nature's love.