Wednesday's Attic

Yellow is the color of the sun, the feeling of fun,  the yolk of an egg, a duck's bill,  a canary bird and a daffodil.  Yellow's sweet corn, ripe oats,  hummingbirds' little throats Summer squash and Chinese silk the cream on top of Jersey milk dandelions and daisy hearts,  custard pies and lemon tarts. Yellow blinks on summer nights  in the off and on of firefly lights. Yellow's a topaz, a candle flame.   Felicity's a yellow name. Yellow's mimosa, and I guess, yellow is the color of happiness.

Green is the grass and the leaves of trees Green is the smell of a country breeze. Green is lettuce and sometimes the sea. When green is a feeling you pronounce it N. V. Green is a coolness you get in the shade of the tall old woods where the moss is made. Green is a flutter that comes in Spring when frost melts out of everything. Green is a grasshopper, Green is jade Green is hiding in the shade -- -- -- Green is an olive and a pickle. The sound of Green is a water trickle Green is the world after the rain,  bathed and beautiful again. April is green, peppermint too.     Every elf has one Green shoe. Under a grape arbor air is green  with sprinkles of sunlight in between. Green is the meadow, Green is the fuzz that covers up where winter was Green is ivy and honeysuckle vine. Green is yours, Green is mine...

Pink is the color of a rose. They come in other colors but everyone knows pink is the mother-color of a rose. Pink is a new baby, the inside of a shell.. Pink is a cooked shrimp and a Canterbury bell. Pink is peachbloom, gauzy... frail the wind's exquisite wedding veil. Pink is a bonbon, pink is a blush, some Easter bunnies are pink plush. If you stand in an orchard In the middle of Spring and you don't make a sound you can hear pink sing, a darling, whispery song of a thing. Pink is the beautiful little sister of red my teacher said,  and a ribbon girls tie round their head. Pink is the sash with the lovely fold your remember when you're old. Pink is the flower on a lady's hat that nods and bows this way and that.

Red is a sunset, blazy and bright. Red is feeling brave with all your might.  Red is a sunburn spot on your nose, sometimes red is a red, red rose. Red squiggles out when you cut your hand. Red is a brick and a rubber band. Red is a hotness you get inside when you're embarrassed and want to hide firecracker, fire engine, fire flicker -- -- and when you're angry red runs through your head. Red is an Indian, a Valentine heart, the trimming on a circus cart.

Orange is a tiger lily, a carrot, a feather from a parrot, a flame, the wildest color you can name. Orange is a happy day saying good-by in a sunset that shocks the sky. Orange is brave, Orange is bold, it's bittersweet and marigold. Orange is zip, Orange is dash, the brightest stripe in a Roman sash. Orange is an orange, also a mango Orange is music of the tango. Orange is the fur of the fiery fox, the brightest crayon in the box. And in the fall when the leaves are turning Orange is the smell of a bonfire burning...

White is a dove and lily of the valley and a puddle of milk spilled in an alley -- -- a ship's sail, a kite's tail, a wedding veil Hailstones and halibut bones and some people's telephones. The hottest and most blinding light is white. And breath is white  when you blow it out on a frosty night. White is the shining absence of all color then absence is white, out of touch, out of sight. White is marshmallow and vanilla ice cream and the part you can't remember in a dream. White is the sound of a light foot walking White is the beautiful broken lace of snowflakes falling on your face. You can smell white in a country room toward the end of May in the cherry bloom.  

Gray is the color of an elephant and a mouse and a falling apart house. it's fog and smog, fine print and lint, it's a hush and the bubbling of oatmeal mush. Tiredness and oysters, both are gray, smoke swirls and grandmother curls. So are some spring coats and nannygoats. Eagles are gray and a rainy day the sad look of a slum and chewing gum Wood ash and linen crash. Pussywillows are gray in a velvety way. Suits, shoes and bad news,  beggars' hats and alley cats, Skin of a mole and a worn slipper sole. Content is gray and sleepiness, too they wear gray suede gloves when they're touching you...

Blue is a heron, a sapphire ring, you can smell blue in many a thing: Gentian and Larkspur, forget-me-nots, too. And if you listen you can hear blue in wind over water   and wherever flax blooms and when evening steps into lonely rooms. Cold is blue; flame shot from a welding torch Is, too hot, wild, screaming, blistering blue and on winter mornings the dawns are blue...

Brown is the color of a country road, back of a turtle, back of a toad. Brown is cinnamon and morning toast and the good smell of the Sunday roast. Brown is the color of work and the sound of a river, Brown is bronze and a bow and a quiver. Brown is the house on the edge of town where wind is tearing the shingles down. Brown is a freckle, Brown is a mole Brown is the Earth when you dig a hole. Brown is the hair on many a head Brown is chocolate and gingerbread. Brown is a feeling you get inside when wondering makes your mind grow wide. Brown is a leather shoe and a good glove -- -- Brown is as comfortable as love.

Gold is a metal, Gold is a ring, Gold is a very beautiful thing. Gold is the sunshine light and thin warm as a muffin on your skin. Gold is the moon, Gold are the stars; Jupiter, Venus, Saturn and Mars, Gold is the color of clover honey Gold is a certain kind of money. Gold is alive in a flickering fish    that lives its life in a crystal dish. Gold is the answer to many a wish. Gold is feeling like a King it's like having the most of everything -- long time ago I was told yellow's mother's name is Gold...