Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Color Me Chocolate 冬日温情

Winter sneaked up on us silently. Yesterday it was cool but sunny, today it is gray and bone biting chills. Red maples have turned a uniform cranberry color overnight, while the fading light of dusk puts back tints of rich auburn, burgundy, deep brown and black. I hug my sweatshirt tight to keep out the frosty air, breathing out heavily in case I can see myself creating a tiny cloud of white puffs, but guess not.

The cold finally wrung out the sticky wetness brought on by the rainy season, and I inhale hungrily the scent of the winter dry freshness. My dryer sheets promise this same effect, but I am always left feeling powdery and caked in manufactured perfume smoke, feeling lovely but at the expense of grittiness allover me. Can we bottle nature authentically without the army of artifice? Should we bother?

I walk around the urban mall to go about my errands. It is our identity to be on the go, rain or shine, we have somewhere else to be. Yet I can't help but stopping into the adjacent chocolate store, enticed by dancing coco air bubbles floating out to the street.

A cup of rich thick melting sweet lava in hand, I put off errands to go to the "paint a pottery" store downstairs at the request of Tim. We pass the french cafe on the way, lit up by art deco pendant fixtures in amber, bouncing a candle like warmth off of the cool black marble counter, sleek overhung, and the black and white Parisian sight posters. It always reminds me of "Paul's" in Paris, and waking up to warm flaky pain au chocolat with a chocolate center just this side of melting.

The store is buzzing with activity.  We have stumbled in here every year near thanksgiving break to indulge a messy roll up with the paints, and create something with the intention of being a Christmas gift but somehow never quite made the cut.   He pick out a mug and an array of colors, gold, brown, light like caramel, dark and chocolaty.  We paint and chat with the friendly party next to us, sipping our hot cocos and scanning the setting sun shooting off golden rays, through the gaps of leaden clouds.  "It looks like a pot of gold steaming just behind them..."  Tim murmurs;  and so it does.  Not fiery red like when the cloud was too pale to compete or block sun's warm embrace in the summer, not fantasy seven like when the rain was upon us or have just been rolling by, and a generous spilling of the seven heavens colors painted the skies.

No, Just a thin edge of warm gold, like a wood burning fire place hidden behind a heavy screen, or a small group of candles swaying beneath fingers huddling above it.  The edges of those inky clouds lift at the caress of twilight's melted kisses , curling, as if to smile, towards the internal warmth that is spreading just below, chocolaty and sweet.

4 comments:

  1. You have a beautiful writing voice, I'm glad I stumbled across your blog.

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  2. Megan - thanks for stopping (or stumbling) by, I am so glad you liked it. This is one of my own favorite piece too.

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