Being me I was fantasizing this afternoon. And for a certain person who read this, I did indeed plan this. Check the date this was posted and you'll realize I tend to fall out of sync with the moment, finding myself wandering amongst memories of the future. Insane, perhaps, but I prefer enlightened and calculating. Best to use what we've been given, then starve in darkness.
Anyhow as I was thinking I determined I needed to impart to you my favorite color. The explanation would be deep and meaningful, far more than just a simple fact about me. Of course my first thoughts were obvious but within a moment they were swept away with a realization. I don't really have a favorite color. It's like the would you rather where you have to pick one of your senses to give up and at first you think that something touches your life less than you realize how important it is to you. To me each color is a part of another and without all of them they fall short.
On that note and with that level of explanation, here's to the colors. (And to those of you who have read one of my favorite books, no I do not feel like death right now... though I am sort of on a vacation, if you will)
The Blues
They are not always the sky's robes yet I remember the moments when it is. I remember the expanse stretching out in all directions, the great faded blue arc touching the earth on all sides and cradling it in embrace. And the warmth of the dirt and asphalt radiates upwards to meld with the clouds. Its beautiful and she looked up at it ages ago, so much closer to her beginnings. Her feet touching the ground but her soul radiating with the heat, wafting up to the delicate wisps that would grow to storm the world in a lasting way. How she longed to be like those clouds. Trust me, she still does.
Its an old photograph, made from two melded perspectives, and a third one layered in by her mind. She was so very young when it was taken but she remembers. The hat on her head belonged to a friend, and she had stared endlessly at the interworking pieces, all coming together as a whole. She didn't know better than to lift it up and pull it over her own locks, ginger strands twisted in with braided cord. The kind woman turned back to face her with a smile and lifted her into her gentle arms. The giggle that was so alive in itself was bubbling from her pale lips as the camera lifted and the flash went off. They'd save it and someday she would stare back at those eyes and wonder where that child had gone, not quite sure if she could accept they were one in the same. That we are one in the same.
But the blue is so much more than just a handful of memories. It is the smell of the flower garden so many hundreds of miles away that may have fell to ruin years ago. It is that feeling of impulse when there is to be silence, pleading that the soul reveal to the mind what it is hiding, so the words that come with it may be shout out to the world. It is the pulsing river that keeps the land and resists taming, the blood that runs through the veins.
Yet its more than blue, its endlessly changing into something else. First another color, then a feeling, a memory, a word.
Perhaps tomorrow I will give you a new color and its stories. To put them all down at once is madness in which I'd drown, but to read them all together is understanding. Together they build at least the semblance of a world and once you have a world, from there you can build.
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