Thursday,December 14

• As always, the laundry. The lone rags and towels on the line seemed chosen to compement the scene: a faded blue and a deeper aqua picking up the colors of the sky and awning; a light glowing blue-green towel, linking to the deep yellow green of the tree in front.

• A coating of green has sprouted up all over the garden. Small spears of the sprouting bulbs barely break through, and the pansies are swallowed. Yet when I begin weeding, I feel like a killer. They are delicate, the roots translucent, the leaves tiny and the bright fresh yellow green of new growth. Soft under my fingers, like the earth is sprouting hairs. They are choking the flowers I so carefully planted, but who defines what is a flower and what a weed?
• The yellow-orange vans sits beside a golden-orange tree wrapped in a scarf of blue and red. The little boy sitting at the top of the steps is also wearing blue. 

• The worker on the house across the street is wearing faded blue jeans, that perfectly echo the color of the blue boards that have been put in place to block the holes in the wall. Above, a blue-grey sky, and the glaring white of the solar heaters.

• that lone spot of pink-red across the bus stop: a sheet hanging from the laundry line. Behind it is an orange brown towel that echoes the brown red of teh autumn tree.