Colors of LOVE

Morning mist, silver, burning away as my track shoes, blue, find their pace; displacing pink gravel, left over and rain washed road salt, crushing now, like diamonds underfoot.

The clear spots of dew on the green ferny low leaves, that look somehow as my own sweat droplets, pushing past the frays of my terry looped headband. I stop to touch my knees, breathing heavily in orange citrus, drinking in the oxygen deeply filling my lungs with waves of icy blue and with my eyes and fingers each tear drop on the leaves. I take peach breaths, a few easy peachy breaths as I have managed the halfway point- at the end of a suburban road. Colored in many beige houses in lesser and greater tones of sandpaper, and sandy dunes. With slate rock steps within the green grass leading to smallish white front doors with steps of heather gray concrete. Now I do the swimmers lapturn ~ in this deadened green and tiger lilies brush to start phase 2 ~ keep moving until I get home. I raise my eyes upward to let go of the symphony below and this feels salmon in solidarity. I will now swim upstream hopping the bits holding me back; anchoring to the golden surf of light peeking through, ever lilting into majestic sky blue.

The red buds are coming on the trees as I beg them to leaf for me. Slowly feeling a fuller fauna since the change of season marked by pastel mango, lavender, gold and red sunsets taking us out of the shorter day. My pace finds itself again, striped blue track shoes - on pavement glistening in spots like melted black ice.

Tulips that nice lady planted around her mailbox; in gorgeous disorder. red and pink and yellow thick in their sway with the wind. planted in the

newly turned rich chocolate soil that holds them away from the groomed Kelly green grass.

Her neighbors' enormous black Rottweiler plays respecting his sister, the yellow labradoodle that leads him around all morning that they are let out.

The awning of cherry trees blooming first miles away, now light pink blushing in the golden sunlight, as I pass and the invisible wind plays his tune making them flutter. The garden hose, green, that brings the water that I douse myself with after the return on the third mile we trekked. The little finches in white icing detail who in their brown are only given away by their chirps and sudden movement. The squirrel of grey and brown roaming for her nuts her wings gray and brown showing in the flight from one oak to the next.

The chipped painted navy, metal patio set, that I set my ivory legs and arms upon for a moment's rest. What else can you imagine, does love color in?

My favorite flowered teacup or my oversized blue checked mug. My teal coffee maker that starts the morning brew with the press of a shiny silver polished button. The deep aroma of fair trade organic coffee colors my nose, and chest in the inhale a deep mocha in expectation. There is more to love. I have a child blooming as he does, within his own blue and black and grey hub that he plants himself in happily playing with his friends online. Oh joy, he has friends. Purple horizons for friends. His world was very grey for a time, his fake friends colored it so in humiliation which for me feels vermillion. For him, it turned grey quickly and he waited it out. He found new friends, those failed he tried again making his walls of steel higher each time. His smile is the same golden sunshine I ache for everywhere all day. And it always surprises my grey. His smile, his thank yous, his willingness to help his mom around the house, brings that golden light right into my heart; deep red pulsing blood with golden flecks flowing like raspberry syrup underneath my milky skin. We may not have every color in the box, there is no man here for him. Family has filled in, and he is a bag of jellybeans with his uncles and cousin. But we have traded some of the worst colors of caca with the yellows of making lemonade laughter and jokes. Sometimes a wall of white appears before my eyes as he is speaking his young thoughts. I see a home movie screen to watch in real time. His stills and videos are aware that we never know what can happen in life; the color of black can come, but not today. And he has no idea that his joy is like this for me. I try to make it normal in his life, and that color is a holy motherly blue for me. Blue is a deep sea of clear love that we tend to together without wasting any of it. Knowing that off the canvas, will be someday soon; as he is now already 18, wise and curious with caution about leaving our comfortable canvas home and making his way in his colors: both kaleidoscope and artist. The colors dance with him. He wears coordination's of stripes and spotted and muraled, loud and bold colors enhancing his own canvas that he is NOT AFRAID to wear anywhere. His fashion is all rainbowed cacophony, parsed out judiciously every day, Monday is green down to the socks, and Tuesday is blue socks as well, and Wednesday is Red and Thursday is yellow, Friday is pink. The weekend is freestyle. He learned and insisted to be different and have people accept him or not like him. He won! He wears self love on his sleeve (down to his socks) in bold and hearty colors everyday. Bravo, Chris I love you in blinding light as the rainbow kaleidoscope you are. Colors, are the secret knowing of how to relate to what it inhabits, and they balance each moment of LOVE that comes my way.

Anisa Lynch ~ 5/7/2021