My plan the past few days has been to focus on words, not specifically color and the BlackBerry photographs I love as I continue to ponder winter red, its hot passion and cool rage. I haven’t been reading as much as I want to lately, but, as I am beginning to pick up my books again, I remember how much I love them. From the glossy cover I temporarily remove to inspect the binding and replace on its cardboard edges to its birch-like papery smell, I love the possibilities of story and phrase I know I will encounter within its pages.
Thinking about red as I run, I stop suddenly to where red berries previously dangled from stems that are now emptied and orange.
It is Autumn moving to Winter, and orange is ever on the edge, the color of the setting sun and the flesh of autumn fruit.
Today, I am orange, the color of autumn leaves, pumpkins, and berries yellowing like crowns of reddening trees and golden tomatoes.
Rain splatters on the roof as I write, sounding like the clattering of soles on concrete.
Things that Are Orange
Stems on bushes that were red just one week ago, tempered like anger.
My fallen pine needles in patches that cushion my path in mats of loomed carpet.
The bark that peels from birch trees like ripped pockets on jeans.
The flesh of the butternut squash where my knife becomes stuck.
Pumpkins on grey steps where I hesitantly move towards, taking photographs as I can’t find any in my supermarket.
The long-sleeved cotton shirt from my costumed Monster Ball fundraiser fun run that I wash separately the first time so its dye doesn’t bleed to my other gorgeous fabrics.
Cones in construction zones.
The sundress I wear today in 40 degree temperatures with a purple sweater to cover my shoulders.
And overwintering berries on green.
GL, 11/26/2009. Prevail.