Thursday, February 05, 2004

Seeing in Colors

Today was a good day. A good day for not being a teacher (not that there's anything wrong with being a teacher,) a good day for waking up extra late, and lounging with my cats purring against me, a good day for taking my laundry out to be done, for getting a strong cup of coffee for the subway ride to the city. It was a good day to sit in Barnes and Noble, reading magazines and buying that book that I've been waiting for. It was a good day for shopping (actual shopping, not just the window type, where money was spent,) and for having veggie chili at one of my old favorite restaurants that I haven't been to since I was a teacher.

Today was a day where I saw in color.

A day when the greens and golds popped out of the subway station. Who knew that the subway platform, bastion of dust and mice, was filled with rich earth colors.

Today was a day where I looked and noticed how many different shades of white there are. Some parts of New York are built all of white marble, and with the clouds milky the way they were today, it was almost as if that white color spilled onto everything else around-- the bare branches of the trees, the asphalt underneath the wheels of the cars. Even the red brick buildings, and all the black winter coats, and the iron grates and fences, even they were washed with a pale white.

And when twilight fell-- everything turned blue. The buildings, angling off into the distance down 5th avenue reflected back the cobalt of the sky, but not all in one piece, but so that you could see how deep the streets were, how tall the building.

And then later, when it was true dark, all the blue went away, gone. Everything was deep shadows, brown and gray, and then light-- brilliant and sharp, in yellow, and red, and lemonade colors.

What does it mean that today I saw in colors?

No deep significance, just that there I was, living, and in that living, I was really present.

Today I saw in color.

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