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It's been such a long haul, the drear pitch black of night, the stark snowy white of day with so little variation. This is why, for some of us, this winter has seemed so unremittingly brutal and, well, bleak.

Life at its richest, after all, is about nuance -- the gradations, the in-between spaces, all the steps between honey and bronze, one note and full orchestra.

``Your grandmother says you read a lot. Every chance you get. That's good, but not good enough. Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with the shades of deeper meaning,'' writes Maya Angelou in ``I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings.''

Shades of meaning.

In this, winter seems entirely deficient, and not at all the way we are meant to live. Nuance in our daily lives, is what provides guideposts for our decision making and our understanding of the world, and excites creativity and energy.

``You're wearing your hair differently'' suggests an appraisal that's quite distinct from ``fabulous haircut.''

A single red rose states ``I love you'' while pink is for admiration, yellow for friendship. To confuse the significance of the three is to go looking for heartbreak.

The words ``Get over here, I have something to tell you'' uttered in a whisper have a wholely different genesis than the same phrase when it's shouted.

One beckons, the other threatens.

This is why so many of us long for spring with its sensory explosion of gradation, subtlety, hints, implication, shading, shadow, variation, variety, tincture and calibration.

Winter, the ice queen, withholds and scolds. Spring embraces and proffers.

Just the other night I dreamt that the country lilacs dormant against the dining room window had gone kablooey, a profusion of brightest green and palest magenta.

It was manifestation of my heart's desire.

Thank heaven, spring arrives this month and will bring with it a buzz of life that is unheard of in winter with its built-in muffler and stern, finger-shaking admonitions to ``get inside before you die of chilblains.'' Quivering brackets of bees will emerge, and spider webs loaded with gemstones, raccoon battles, the racket of a woodpecker, the courtesan call of the mockingbird, an armada of perennials and cherry blossoms, the sounds of melting. Barbecue scent, a piano scale from a distance, the child's roller skates shh-shhhhhing.

Regrets to those friends who love winter.

You've had your day.

Step back.

BETSY SHEA-TAYLOR is Living Well editor. She can be reached at 508-236-0439 or at btaylor@thesunchronicle.com.