I’ve had so many images running through my head lately, images that I have longed to write down, to share. And now that I sit here at long last at my computer, fingers over keyboard, I find myself unable to thread all these images together cohesively. And yet they all more or less have to do with the same idea – color.
I suppose I’ve been obsessed with color because I’ve been thinking about the wildflowers along the running paths I frequent. And then once I start to think about something, it seems to pop up everywhere I look. It sort of infiltrates my every waking moment…
There are the dusky greens of the redwoods I walked through the other day with a friend on an unforeseen morning off – deep, shadowed greens highlighted by the soft brightness of new growth on the trees and on the ground.
There are the solitary bursts of color that seem to peak out from under and around the forest greens – slender vermillion wildflowers, snowy rhododendrons, happy daisies, delicate purple irises.
There are the sleepily waving golds of the coastal prairies, blushing with ruby sheep’s sorrel, somehow complemented to perfection by the gentle grey of rocky cliffs and overcast skies.
There are all the tiny coastal wildflowers, hardily thriving under the constant beating of the ocean winds – dusty purple asters, bright pink blooms of the ice plant, wild radishes with pastel petals of pink and yellow and white, flaming Indian paintbrush, dainty sweet peas, periwinkles, creamy orange pimpernel, poppies, and many others that brighten my run as I pass them by.
Everywhere I look, I see colors – beautiful, compelling colors. I see sunsets…wow. I see foaming waves. I see driftwood and shrubs and birds and the lime green tennis balls on the front feet of a walker waiting patiently by the side of the road for its owner to come back and reclaim it.