For years the color orange made me cringe; I’d have to look the other way. Until one day I saw orange as if it had just been born; apparently, I’d been asleep to it before. Weird orange blinders had covered my eyes from the truth of its beauty for so many years.
That color has a persuasive depth I’d never given it credit for, one that harmonizes. Even in a slip of paper caught in a chain-link fence beside some orange berries.
Though I’d loved marigolds for years, it had been for their smell and shape, but at last I love them also for their uncompromised color. Orange doesn’t apologize; it doesn’t say, “I’ll just fade into the background” like certain shades of blue, green or yellow do, and I like that. Red, too, is an unapologetic color. Is that why I wear it on my lips, so I’m less likely to apologize for what I say? Maybe.
Walking alone in Berkeley the other morning after an event for Step into Nature, after a good night’s sleep, colors sort of jumped at me—in a good way. I was seeing afresh. It’s good for the eyes’ soul to be in the unfamiliar, to get jolted into seeing. And color is what I saw.
Here’s to the range of color in spring. Even after spring’s first flush is over, now that we’re in the middle of May, even in California where some claim we have no seasons (though they’re wrong), damn, the season’s bursting colors are everywhere. Once you see something it’s likely you’ll see something else. That’s what’s happened to me. Here begins an occasional color series.
If you go out for a walk this weekend, notice at the color lifting itself to your eyes. Is there something you want to say back, something in the ordinary, everyday beauty that is this planet that you want to celebrate? Might it be orange?