I’m always surprised what wants to be posted—I have ideas about what should come next, but that’s not what comes forward; the energy doesn’t flow and I seem to resist getting it done. Then an idea or an image pops up seemingly out of nowhere and pushes itself to the head of the line. “I’m next!” it proclaims, and it’s clear that’s what I have to do. So it is with this one.
Millions of words have been written about color, millions of dollars spent on studies about it. Most of us know how important it is, even if we have never read anything. It can make us feel good, change our mood, help us heal. Our world is incalculably richer because of color.
While I am tempted to start sharing amazing facts—to write for example about colors outside our normal vision and who can perceive them (about what animals see that we don't), or about the way color in butterfly wings is not really there (not to mention that color is not really out there but “read” inside our eyes)—I’m stopping myself.
This post is just meant to be a celebration. It was prompted by a poem I wrote last week, a poem that came because I was taking in nature’s color as I was walking, looking around and noticing the trees and plantings fronting the houses I was passing. The familiar feeling of saturation overcame me. The word saturation means a lot to me—years ago, I even wrote a book called The Saturated World. (www.amazon.com/Saturated-World-Aesthetic-Meaning-Intimate/dp/1572335424). As I’ve had to explain over and over, I wasn't writing about a soggy planet, but about that state of consciousness or awareness where everything seems heightened. Something that is saturated has absorbed all it can of its medium—a sponge absorbs the moisture around it until it can hold no more; a color absorbs the maximum amount of a particular hue. I sometimes feel myself saturating—taking on that heightened awareness, feeling as if I have stepped into a poem, or become a poem, where each word is pregnant, dripping with import and possibility.
I’m sharing the recent poem here, and a variety of photos I’ve taken within the last year that feature different colors—to me, they literally shout, “See my COLOR! Take it in! Absorb it! I also found a few (much) older poems that speak to the same thing—taking in, almost inhaling the color, tasting it, feeling it deeply, as a kind of synesthesia.
I invite you to celebrate and inhale with me.
Millions of words have been written about color, millions of dollars spent on studies about it. Most of us know how important it is, even if we have never read anything. It can make us feel good, change our mood, help us heal. Our world is incalculably richer because of color.
While I am tempted to start sharing amazing facts—to write for example about colors outside our normal vision and who can perceive them (about what animals see that we don't), or about the way color in butterfly wings is not really there (not to mention that color is not really out there but “read” inside our eyes)—I’m stopping myself.
This post is just meant to be a celebration. It was prompted by a poem I wrote last week, a poem that came because I was taking in nature’s color as I was walking, looking around and noticing the trees and plantings fronting the houses I was passing. The familiar feeling of saturation overcame me. The word saturation means a lot to me—years ago, I even wrote a book called The Saturated World. (www.amazon.com/Saturated-World-Aesthetic-Meaning-Intimate/dp/1572335424). As I’ve had to explain over and over, I wasn't writing about a soggy planet, but about that state of consciousness or awareness where everything seems heightened. Something that is saturated has absorbed all it can of its medium—a sponge absorbs the moisture around it until it can hold no more; a color absorbs the maximum amount of a particular hue. I sometimes feel myself saturating—taking on that heightened awareness, feeling as if I have stepped into a poem, or become a poem, where each word is pregnant, dripping with import and possibility.
I’m sharing the recent poem here, and a variety of photos I’ve taken within the last year that feature different colors—to me, they literally shout, “See my COLOR! Take it in! Absorb it! I also found a few (much) older poems that speak to the same thing—taking in, almost inhaling the color, tasting it, feeling it deeply, as a kind of synesthesia.
I invite you to celebrate and inhale with me.
Late Summer Walk Home From the Market
A hot afternoon.
the yellow blooms rule
presiding with other warm hues
the monarchs drink orange
tomatoes ripen red
coleus shouts a pinkish pattern
shot with sienna
abundant purple plums
droop on their branches
bellflowers wave gentle lilac,
asters are appearing, their violet stars shouting,
calling to the anemones
which have spread so thick
terra cotta chairs
beckon me to rest
the leaves, still green
begin to be tired
they are toning down
the mulberry tree
has golden age spots
the coneflowers are darkening,
going to seed, turning deep brown
the leaves of the downed poplar branch
are curling up white,
grieving, saying goodbye.
A hot afternoon.
the yellow blooms rule
presiding with other warm hues
the monarchs drink orange
tomatoes ripen red
coleus shouts a pinkish pattern
shot with sienna
abundant purple plums
droop on their branches
bellflowers wave gentle lilac,
asters are appearing, their violet stars shouting,
calling to the anemones
which have spread so thick
terra cotta chairs
beckon me to rest
the leaves, still green
begin to be tired
they are toning down
the mulberry tree
has golden age spots
the coneflowers are darkening,
going to seed, turning deep brown
the leaves of the downed poplar branch
are curling up white,
grieving, saying goodbye.
Green
In my primal landscape
in the rain
dark veins of
granite
heavy with lichen
the unquenchable wet green
everywhere
melancholy rises
and soothes
sheeting off the
boulders the
wet wet leaves the
darkness of the forest
the depth of the
green
In my primal landscape
in the rain
dark veins of
granite
heavy with lichen
the unquenchable wet green
everywhere
melancholy rises
and soothes
sheeting off the
boulders the
wet wet leaves the
darkness of the forest
the depth of the
green
Water Lily
I floated today
among the lily pads
happy Pac-man faces
trailing long graceful stems
spaghetti strands I waved away
as I swam to the flower
to inhale
its sweet yellow silence
I floated today
among the lily pads
happy Pac-man faces
trailing long graceful stems
spaghetti strands I waved away
as I swam to the flower
to inhale
its sweet yellow silence
RSS Feed
