color wheel

20 11 2009

Twenty-plus giant bags of brown paper stuffed with yellow confetti.  Azure skies top the Indian Summer days.  Two Norways and one Sugar Maple spread their arms to form a hunter green canopy that shade the windows from heat, now stand like lacey webs – bare. The dance of the sun across the sky is lower now. The music is changing – the notes are more somber.

Inky darkness falls but midnight is yet far away.  We turn out all the lights and sit staring at the cadmium orange, yellow and red blaze in the fireplace.  Stifling a shiver, I focus on the light.

One more maize day.  The red and silver ladder stands ready as I arm myself with a bottle of liquid turquoise and stuff my pockets with black and white newsprint.  I make circle after circle till the tiny bubbles and wavy lines entombed in the century old glass sparkle and shine like tiny prisms.

Twilight again turns the sky to a cerulean pool.  The burnt amber room turns to cinnamon with dimmed lamps.  My three favorite windows in the house – the three dressed in nothing but their golden oak frames – are my portals to sanity.  Tonight they stand with clean faces ready to welcome the southern light.

Gray.  It came sooner than expected.  Dropped like a thick scrim in front of the sun, there were no pale yellow rays to dance across the polished crystal.  Just gray.  But sooner than I’d like,  there will be a brilliant day when light will be intensified by the surrounding white and my windows will magnify those reflected rays. Then, imitating the Mouser, I will find a reason to stop and bask in that warmth in hopes of surviving another winter.