While these purple flowers are from the end of last summer,
their spring like color is fuel for inspiration.
Should I be surprised colors are such a large part of my process? As I look back at another body of work, my memoir, The Garden Girls Letters and Journal, I rediscover that even my writing was laced with color.
Lavender in purple braids is empty handed, of course; she’s the philosopher.
I carry him downstairs, his head resting on my shoulder, and fall into my old purple velvet overstuffed chair. With the towel cradling him I reach behind the chair for a book from the bookshelf and pull out "The Great Me and The Little Me."
The porch is blue, the pansies are blue purple and the fuchsia is red purple. I had visions that we would sit on this porch and converse. They would be slow casual conversations somewhat meaningless, perhaps, because we would be relaxing.
We would not be driven towards some kind of completion