Violet is a sweet and a sweet old lady and a colour of mourning and a colour of morning and a colour of evening. It is an English colour for we have twilight - hours that stretch out in the eveningtime, seeming endless in the summer when the violet seems warm and sweet and too long in the wintertime when the violet is cold and sharp. Taste of powder and old perfume, crackling plastic packets all bound round in purple and pink, used to sweeten the breath. A secret love of mine. A colour worn by third cousins after a death or by the lady of the house in her third year of widowhood. After all that oppressive black, then grey, then dark brown, comes an almost startling nod to colour again, but something quiet and calm, unassuming. What comes before heliotrope in the spectrum of sadness. Violet is what you wear just before you turn your face to the sun again. In the language of flowers it signifies 'modesty; calms tempers; induces sleep'. Feather-filled eiderdowns; blushes; lowered eyelashes and Valentine's cards edged in lace. How strange it is that it is just one small consonant from being violent. Perhaps we should watch the sweet old ladies after all. Perhaps those widows have bite.
Monday 8 February 2010
a week in rainbow-speak, also backwards.
I have to start with violet so that it reads correctly in the blog layout. I like that, though, as violet is a colour of ends and the contrary part of me enjoys beginning with an ending.
VIOLET
Violet is a sweet and a sweet old lady and a colour of mourning and a colour of morning and a colour of evening. It is an English colour for we have twilight - hours that stretch out in the eveningtime, seeming endless in the summer when the violet seems warm and sweet and too long in the wintertime when the violet is cold and sharp. Taste of powder and old perfume, crackling plastic packets all bound round in purple and pink, used to sweeten the breath. A secret love of mine. A colour worn by third cousins after a death or by the lady of the house in her third year of widowhood. After all that oppressive black, then grey, then dark brown, comes an almost startling nod to colour again, but something quiet and calm, unassuming. What comes before heliotrope in the spectrum of sadness. Violet is what you wear just before you turn your face to the sun again. In the language of flowers it signifies 'modesty; calms tempers; induces sleep'. Feather-filled eiderdowns; blushes; lowered eyelashes and Valentine's cards edged in lace. How strange it is that it is just one small consonant from being violent. Perhaps we should watch the sweet old ladies after all. Perhaps those widows have bite.
Violet is a sweet and a sweet old lady and a colour of mourning and a colour of morning and a colour of evening. It is an English colour for we have twilight - hours that stretch out in the eveningtime, seeming endless in the summer when the violet seems warm and sweet and too long in the wintertime when the violet is cold and sharp. Taste of powder and old perfume, crackling plastic packets all bound round in purple and pink, used to sweeten the breath. A secret love of mine. A colour worn by third cousins after a death or by the lady of the house in her third year of widowhood. After all that oppressive black, then grey, then dark brown, comes an almost startling nod to colour again, but something quiet and calm, unassuming. What comes before heliotrope in the spectrum of sadness. Violet is what you wear just before you turn your face to the sun again. In the language of flowers it signifies 'modesty; calms tempers; induces sleep'. Feather-filled eiderdowns; blushes; lowered eyelashes and Valentine's cards edged in lace. How strange it is that it is just one small consonant from being violent. Perhaps we should watch the sweet old ladies after all. Perhaps those widows have bite.
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