I have this image stuck in my mind; of two birds perched on a power line, frolicking & kissing. Covered in deep, rich & luxurious green & orange feathers. They were exquisite & I wondered whether they had any idea just how beautiful that green & orange looked on them.
They inspired an awareness, a noticing of colour. we are bathed in it from the moment we wake up.
I could tell you of the pinks, browns, burgundies & purples that play in my room. & you could tell me about the rainbows that live in your life. We could sit around the fire & whisper to each other. & watch the flames dance their way into heaven dressed in brilliant red, blue & orange hues.
But instead, I shall tell you of another kind of colour – the kind that is easy to miss.
It begins at dawn, in the still silence of the morning. It’s almost as though the earth takes a moment to worship its creator – everything soaked in quiet. dripping with a sacred silence. synchronised & perfect. I sit in the quiet listening to the silence.
At exactly 6.30 the bird that lives outside my bedroom window begins her morning lullaby. At 6.45, she stops. It’s always at the same time every single day. she is reliable with her song as the sun is with his course. she shows me everyday what it means to show up, whether people see you or not.
I notice how alive the train platform suddenly becomes whenever a train arrives. People get off, people get on. Who are they? Where are they going? Are they ok? I watch & ponder, my book forgotten as it lays open on my lap.
Eyes meet, eyes withdraw. my heart misses a beat & my palms sweat as my eyes linger on the vanishing delectable form of a man. I am so gullible. I sigh & smile in the same moment, lowering my head in contentment that even in the thick of noise & commotion I am insignificant – a simple soul among souls. Save for the man, nobody else can see my heart blush bright red & I can abandon myself back into the book atop my sweaty palms.
From the corners of my eye, I notice the struggle of an old, grey woman as she pushes herself up from the seat.
“My back is no longer the same y’know” she says to me in an equally crackly voice.
I gently close my book & offer her my un-divided attention. The invitation must be written all over my face because she proceeds to pour her story into my lap. Of a daughter’s loss of an arm after being pushed under a train. She & her sore back had just come from the hospital where the doctor had delivered the good news;
“Your daughter will live!”
So today was a good day for her, aching back & all. I couldn’t get to her joy. I was still drowning in the pain before the joy. I was still wrestling with the ‘pushed under the train bit’. Who would do such a heart-wrenching thing?
I watch her take each short step as she walks away. I whisper a prayer for her & her daughter.
I notice the rain.
As I walk home, it has the nerve to start drizzling. I look up at the sky, suddenly dark & foreboding & I grimace. My day was long & the last thing I need is to be drenched. Soaked blue-wet to the bone. I’m just about successful working myself up into a bad attitude when two raindrops, soft as a petal fall on my lips. I curve into the gesture & my heart strings are pulled completely. I am being kissed by the rain. I am being wooed in the most irresistible of ways. Everything melts away – the longness of the day, the pain encountered, the ache in my heart. everything.
Life is bursting with gems & pebbles; lessons in colour that whisper & shout. They form beautiful patterns of tapestries right across our life journeys. They surround us & sometimes box us in, living right under our noses – the green & orange of everyday.
All we need to do is notice