Colours – Grey

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Grey is not one of my favourite colours, but I think it depicts the emotional state of someone experiencing this kind of loss and grief.

The ocean’s rhythm

GREY

She watches the sun set then gathers her jacket closer to her chest. Under her bare feet the sand feels crunchy. It makes a squelching sound with each step. The water whispers ‘Sh-sh-sh,’ then retreats with an inward sigh, as if drawing breath before rushing back to the shore.

Toes half-buried in the sand, the woman waits. No matter how hard she tries to resist, the shock of that first splash catches her breath and forces a short, sharp squeak from her. Two waves later and her response is childlike. She rolls her trackpants higher and dances along the water’s edge, swaying in and out with the ocean’s rhythm.

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Colours – Yellow

This is another of my pieces inspired by colour.

Laughter is yellow

and birds in spring

a summer’s day

with boats and kites

and children playing in a garden;

a little girl on twirling toes

a kitten chasing a ball.

Yellow is smooth

it’s full of joy

a hymn of praise

a word of thanks

a kiss from a child

and friendship.

Purple

Purple is my favourite colour. I wrote this piece several years ago; I hope my new followers will enjoy it and those of you who have read it before, won’t mind reading it again. The flowers are from my garden.

Purple sits on mountain tops. It tugs your soul at the moment of daylight into dusk and hangs in the air when a heavenly fragrance wafts past. It lives in the taste buds of a chocolate connoisseur and of course truffles, excellent brie and fine Russian caviar have more than a touch of purple in their chemistry.

Purple is the sound of a Beethoven symphony. It is the colour of majesty, commanding homage from those who wait in awe for the moment when purple sweeps into view, adorning the triumphant.

Moods of purple are sensuous, evocative, illogical to the browns and greens of this world. A mystical aura envelops those with purple souls. Dancers, like Fonteyn and Nureyev, were swathed from head to pointed toe in every shade of purple; a soft and frothy mauve for lighter moods, the tragedies all dark and swirling into tindered sumptuousness.

Unpredictable, tantalizing, never moderate or mundane, purple is renowned for extremes. Pavarotti is purple; an excellent example of the soul, the talent and temperament of this colour. Tempered and trained, never fully controlled, it flashes brilliance or leaves one in despair. Reliable it is not. Gentle and tender are not the norm, but purple also comes in pansies, soft as wood-smoke.

To live with a purple soul is at once the epitome of heaven and hell, difficult for all when the mood is dark, but a journey through the stars when it soars.

Istanbul – The Taxi Route

I have just discovered another story that I wrote about my Turkish trip in 2013. Some of you may have read it, but I think it’s amusing and hope my newer followers enjoy it

Chora Museum at the top of the hill

After visiting the Chora Museum in Istanbul, our intention is to find an ancient wall, supposedly nearby. We set off, walking down a laneway, where our interest is captured by an old man with a white beard and moustache, leaning out of a window and chatting with a neighbour standing near us. He wears a small black fez pushed back to reveal a smattering of white hair and large ears. His face is lean, his nose long and his teeth are yellowing.

Leaning further out of the window, he smiles and waves to us, his pose creating the perfect photo for my collection of interesting characters. I wonder if he does this on a regular basis and wish it was possible to converse with him. We manage a Turkish thank you – te shekir edeem – as we wave goodbye; he disappears behind the potted red geranium on his window sill.

We continue walking down the hill, stopping everyone who might be able to point us in the direction of the elusive wall but, as we can’t speak Turkish and they don’t speak English, we have no luck.

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