Spring Forward

The Boston Herald

I am in, of all places, a clothing store looking at shoes I can't walk in, skirts I can't fit in and pocketbooks I would never, ever carry. The pocketbooks are orange, lime, raspberry and lemon. The skirts are flowy, light, gauzy and frivolous. The shoes are pink, purple, high heeled and open toed.

And you know what? I love them all, especially the shoes, which, unfortunately, are made for women with far younger feet.

Outside everything is gray and white and frozen and still, lovely in a painting, romantic when you're daydreaming or reading a Robert Frost poem. But when you have to live it? When you've put on the same old coat and boots for five long months?

This winter got old a long while ago.

In retail land, it's gone. There's not a trace of it. It's spring everywhere, on the racks, on the walls, in the potted plants and perfumed air and if it's an illusion, a little hocus pocus, who cares? Who can't use a little illusion on a cold March day?

The very publicized Gates brightened up Central Park last month. I saw them. They were, well, bright. I'd have preferred a variety of pastels to monochromatic orange blowing in the breeze. I'd have preferred a breeze, too, instead of a gusty wind and a temperature that never got out of the teens. But people came from all over the world and walked around in the frigid air to see this creation because it was called art and because it was a once-in-a- lifetime thing.

But a thing doesn't have to be art or once-in-a-lifetime to be beautiful.

Look at the moon tonight. Or at a cardinal today, scarlet against white. If you were seeing a cardinal for the first time, you'd be awed. But see them every day and you hardly notice. 

It's the same with most things. We're inundated with all that's wrong with the world, people you can't trust, governments gone crazy, past disasters, impending disasters, war and terrorism and tsunamis and poverty and injustice and murder. And on it goes. Every day our fear is fed. And so our fear grows. 

But our sense of wonder and simple appreciation is being starved.

You come out of the sleet and into a store that is all dressed up for spring. You walk into a restaurant where there are starched white tablecloths; or a coffee shop where the smell is as good as the taste. You open the door to your home at the end of a day. A child smiles. A dog wags its tail. And all these things are good. But they don't register because there's not a Christo and Jean-Claude come to town saying, “This is special.’'

I never gave any thought to what goes into making a department store attractive. Or making people attractive. I never saw racks of clothes as things of beauty. But this year I do. They are a sign of spring and this year I'm looking for any sign.