Vermilion

I'm hungry for color.

I lay awake in bed last night for what felt like hours (it may have been), listening to the melodic song of the wind chimes and the pounding of the rain on the roof.  Every now and then the rhododendron planted right on the other side of the wall from my head would thump loudly and I'd jump, whacking a kitty boy out of his snoring slumber curled up in the crook of my legs (yes. the orange one snores like an old yoda).  I finally gave in, clicked on the bedside lamp and attempted to pour my thoughts down in my sketchbook (I find, without fail, the nights I leave my sketchbook elsewhere in the house are the nights a steady stream of thoughts interrupt my sleep until I am forced to sneak out of bed and retrieve it).  But all I could write about was color.  Sing gave me one disdainful sleepy-glare and crawled under the covers to be spooned (also yes. the kitty boys have learned that under the covers is a magical world of warmth and snuggles, provided they don't suffocate.  we tell them it's the risk they take and that all good things come with a price).

Yesterday, alongside a cornmeal-berry scone I wrote to a friend about the phenomena that is living in a world of evergreens.  Right here on the coast, with the ocean waters lapping no less than one mile from my front door, I'm surrounded by dense verdant, a constant canopy of emerald and a floor of jade.  The rains have marked the turning of the season, as though someone promptly flipped a switch, turned down the thermostat and declared it officially Autumn.  I know my toes are colder, and I've bought three new pairs of tights in the past two weeks (grey cabled sweater, herringbone in cream and black, and a deep berry red), so it must be true.

I suppose what this means is that I must open my eyes a little wider to catch the crimson fluttering down. I must spend a little more time trespassing in neighbors' yards scooping up great handfuls of scarlet to bring home and press in the treasure trove that is the back of my sketchbook (currently pressing a massive quantity of ferns, fallen leaves and crow feathers - it's a dangerous item to carry around, like Gretel I leave a trail of fallen items to find my way home).  I must eat more pomegranates.  But that's the easy part.  

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Off to pour a second cup of tea and put up a fresh inspiration wall in the studio.

oh yes!

SPEAKING of color, I'm in the market for some mustard colored tights, not halloween yellow, not pale buttercup, but MUSTARD (my other newest color obsession).  Any leads ladies?