The Mystic Realm of Color Is Its Own Language

Colors make magic; there are millions to see.

We just have to keep our eyes open to the world and infinity.

That’s not to say we can’t see with just the mind

As our brains are one of the wonders of humankind.

But take the color orange when I had called it red.

My child and I argued the silly subject until it was dead.

She said it was perception, I said it was the light;

and I finally agreed she was mostly right.

Just noticing the myriad of colors in the sky, or in the spring flowers

Gives one a glimpse into the magic of nature’s infinitesimal powers.

My mother was an artist. Her palette was bursting with paint.

Until her brushes met the canvas and there was no restraint.

The greens became trees, and browns became rocks, the blues, well,

They became sky, clouds, mountains, shadows and rivers that seemed to swell.

When I was older and went hiking, I noticed the subtlety, the changes and the hues

And fascinated, I collected the memories, the cues, so I could choose

Among my favorites, and the wonders of the pigments I wished to use.

What an adventure dawns each time I mix, for example, that orange and red,

And it becomes burnt orange or sunny red, as the colors join and spread.

Yes, joy happens; mixed and displayed with each brush’s lash

The artist’s hand has created a singular enchantment-the perfect tint’s splash!

One can’t quite mimic the sun’s glow,

or the moon’s subtle shadow,

But Mother Nature is the master of the wonders of creation,

And I, a single earthly soul, may spark a mystical flirtation

With colors of every shade, tint and hue as my personal donation

To the earth’s affirmation!