Why is green the boldest color of my soul?
Let it be the golden flecks within your eyes hyphenated by the sun or that subtle shade of pastel blue that reminds me of soaked and saturated forget-me-nots or a favorite crayola from my youngest days.
When everything was fresh and new.
Remember back when your nimble fingers glided freely over scraps of paper filled with scribbles in monochrome or silken shadows of sienna swirled hillsides like arias or bel cantos of a starry night?
But if green it is, be sure it’s the color of sage or moss.
Did you think I meant the most mercenary color of currency or money? To make you green with envy, no doubt, though I thought red was the color of desire.
Or the green meshed in camouflage fatigues, designed for combat to outwit the predator and not become the prey?
I would not mind the sun kissed tint of Kentucky blue grass on a
beautiful summer’s day.
Or flaxen willow and sultry wildflowers, the color of poetry, just waiting
for the tranquil blanket of a tarnished silver moon.
I feel a draft, as if my distracted, diluted, tattered, rascal soul could speak, I’m sure it would roll its charcoal eyes and try to have me dissected, duct-taped or evicted post-haste.
Perhaps, it is perfectly content entangled in nuanced shades of grey. Or to breathe in the warm earthiness of faded terracotta.
Whatever strikes its mood or fancy on any particular, random day.
To the reader — dare I ask — what is the true color of your soul?
What is the color of serenity?
Or are you colorblind?
Does your soul remain unerased?
© Connie Song 2024. All Rights Reserved.
