how do i even begin to describe this color,
because it is so
******* versatile.

firstly it is the color of royalty and magic--

stuff of fairy tales that leap from the page
and into your mind's eye.
richly-hued gowns reach the polished floor;
crowns and scepters shine with amethyst,
with jasper,
with tanzanite.
this color shines in the stardust of a wizard's cloak,
shimmering in the candlelight as he pours over texts and trinkets
with a glowy-eyed owl brooding on his shoulder.
it billows from the smoke of a witch's potion--
eye of newt and
wing of bat and
toe of frog
combine into a roiling haze that will make the princess
fall in love and then kiss death.

"double, double, toil and trouble...
your dreams and despair await."

this color is also one of spring.

it dots on the hills in delicate petals of
heather and lavender,
and the slightly darker
pansies and geraniums.
it scatters on the wind and leaves its perfume for
butterflies and
bumblebees and
girls in love.

before the sun rises and paints the sky in its warmth,
the world stands still in a state that is
neither dark nor light.
the stars have gone but
morning has not quite arrived to take its place;
birds are not yet chirping and
bugs and not yet buzzing--
in fact the only sound is your own mumbling
as you press your face into the pillow as though
trying to push away the responsibilities that
loom in the daytime.

it is here that this color is perhaps at its softest.

now, there is one more place this color shows itself,
though I'd rather it not be the case.

it is the shade of hurt and fear,
the shade of loneliness.
this color blooms on her back and shoulders and over her eye--
in bruises dark enough for her to seek cover-up
and a restraining order.
this color outlines the handprint of his attacker,
when he was wrenched into an alley and
stripped of his sense of security.

this color looms over the dispossessed
no matter how brightly the sun is shining.
instead of hugs and kisses,
these lost souls are met with remarks like
"loser" and
"*****" and
"****-up."
solitude is sanctuary as invisible hands
attempt to choke the life out of the outcasts.

do you see what i meant when i said
that this color is versatile?
it is a color of kingship and witchcraft,
of nature and pain.

it is not the color of singular definition.

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.

it is the color of a misty morning,
when the world is silent and
the dawn has yet to blot the last stars out of the sky.
it is the feeling of frost on your windowsill
but warmth in your bed.
you shut your eyes,
determined to keep the imminent sun at bay.

it is the color of dreams chased away
but consciousness yet to be attained.
of time standing still,
of a breath waiting to be exhaled.

this color is
calmness
contentment
quiet.
the shade of a prayer before bed and
a sigh upon waking;

the shade of peace.

adversely,
it is also the color of the clutches of loneliness,
of the weight of sadness.
it is the color of somebody's world crumbling apart
but with nobody to bear witness to their silent pain.

this color is one of falling, of screaming, of drowning--
but with nowhere to land
and no one to hear
and nothing to hold.

this color often associates with death.

it is the color of lips and veins
when the heart stops beating;
the color or cold and
the color of tears.

but always remember
that it is above all the color of beginning.
of the sea
and sky
and eternity.

it is an infinite color.

it is not the color of goodbye.