#color #purple #melancholy #threshold

Maris Lacrima

The brown weeds and grasses along the road look purple to me.  A beautifully, angst-ly reddish-purple.  Like red grapes in dusk light, or very old oak leaves after a pouring rain.  Purple that is blushing or bleeding.  It’s a color I clearly don’t know how to describe.  It resides in my heart beside chartreuse.  Colors that live between tertiaries, and that dance or migrate as an expression of their primary essence.

The green grass looks pale yet birthing into yellow, and the yellow grasses look like they are pregnant with green.  The sky is blue, I know it is blue, and yet I see all the colors, however pale and blended, they are all there.  And the fields, the tilled soil, looks heavy, like an anchor.

Sometimes the colors I see make my heart ache so deeply I wonder how much beauty can I bear?  It’s like a pressure within…

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