this is the color of sunshine and innocence,
of freckle-faced children running through the dry grass
as butterflies flit and grasshoppers bound.
it is the shade of the center of the daisies
their older sister plucks from the earth.
a reserved smile tugs on her lips as
one by one the petals fall to the whispered words,

"he loves me,
he loves me not."

it is the color of lemonade and buttered croissants,
and the dance the mother makes across the kitchen,
floral skirt swaying as she sashays to and fro.
a grin flashes across her face
as she remembers the color of the dreams she chased in her youth;

the color of her name up in lights
the color of camera bulbs and the afterimages
that creep across her vision
when the paparazzi descends.

this color makes it way down the hall and into the study,
where the father sits at his desk pouring
over numbers and figures while furiously
punching them into a calculator.

it is the color of post-it notes scribbled over with important dates,
of the faded coffee stain on the front of the man's shirt,
of the potted flowers doing their absolute best
to brighten up the austere space.

when the day reaches its end
this color seems to disappear...

but it persists

in the most subtle
of places.

it wraps around the tiny nightlight in the youngest son's room,
providing a barrier between him
and whatever goes bump in the night.

it chimes in the nervous giggles that attempt to dispel
the fear that comes with a late-night scary story.

it emanates from the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets
stuck to the older sister's ceiling--
there they remain
despite her insistence that she it too old for them.

this color is most certainly not the color of darkness,
but,
rather--
the moments that break its emptiness.