Text and image Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland
Some mornings it feels like the light, the colours, the birdsong is given especially to me. Challenges easily hide colours, it's paintbox is filled with grey. I open the box and paint, sometimes slowly, often almost with fever, in a hurry, rushing.....digging myself deep, deep into the grey, praise the world and its creator for the lovely range of grey shades......completely forgetting that the world is filled with colours, with light, with birdsong.
Yesterday morning was such a grey morning. I had slept badly, had been too busy during the night to paint my world grey. I had a long, grey walk, on slippery, icy roads......believe me, icy roads are all grey. Icy, slippery roads also mean that you have to look down, down, down, be careful where you place your feet, if you take your eyes away from the ground for a second you will be sure to fall. Fall grey.
Try to keep on looking down at the icy path when the air fills with birdsong. It is impossible. Completely impossible. And even though you take your eyes away from the ice you won't fall. The birdsong steadies you, holds you, fills you completely with light, with colours, with beauty.
The light, the birdsong.........it washes away all grey. It paints your world with beauty, with trust, with hope, with light.
It is magic. God's magic.
