Wednesday, July 15, 2009


Most of my clothes were gray. Sometimes brown. Ever so often I'd make a conscious effort to buy something with color, and it would end up at the back of my closet, incongruous and forgotten, a dot of pink standing out in a colorless ocean.

The walls of my house were all linen white. I liked very much to sit in a room and look through the frame of the door into the other at the crisp, clean lines of white on white.

One restless night I got out of bed knowing I had to paint the walls. I walked through my house taking notes, picked the surfaces that needed color and settled on four hues: red, green, blue and yellow.  Headed back to bed, I passed by my closet and was startled by what has obviously been happening for years: splotches of green, red, pink, blue, yellow; and a bit of gray, incongruous and forgotten in an ocean of color.



Jimbonius said...

I'm with ya. We opted for bold colored walls a couple of years ago, by a process that seemed similarly unconscious in origin.

gpsimms said...


I googled poetry blogs and came across yours. I like the things you write, and was hoping to find a "circle" of writers interested in critiqueing and helping others. is my blog, and I'd love to exchange some ideas if you're interested.

Helmet said...

I like the fact that you write with a poetic, vibrant tone. I can see why you have a good following. Makes me want to be a painter and paint all our walls vibrant colors. All the best.