I have never been a fan of pink. It was a conscious decision I made at the age of 6 or so, to not pursue pink things. There are a number of reasons for this - the first of which is that pink was my sister's favourite colour and I felt the need to stand out in some way and be different. There was something symbolic about it too. I think even at a young age, the colour pink stood out to me as a representation of delicacy, or fluffiness, or something like that. No one told me that pink meant any of those things, but in my mind it was quite clear. I was a tomboy. I was adventurous. Pink had no place in my wardrobe.
Somewhere along the way I got over my pink aversion. I still don't wear it a ton, but I am not so adamantly opposed to it either. I don't really know how it happened... but if I were to make up a story about it, the story would begin here, in the spring time.
I am a lover of nature, especially seasons. I love noticing the changes that take place through the year, and the beginning of spring is among my favourite times. The winter is filled with whites and grays, and then suddenly.... PINK! Of all the colours to boldly enter the landscape after months of gray, pink is the one to burst through. Perhaps I didn't give pink the credit that it deserves. Perhaps, pink is not so helpless after all. Perhaps pink is more of a force to be reckoned with than I knew.
We have a tree in our yard that has been begging to be photographed, so today we spent a bit of time together.
Oh springtime. Pink isn't so bad.