Member-only story
Turning Corners, Seeing Colors
I walk a lot these days.
By choice, I walk. Folks used to stop and offer me rides. Living in a small town makes it so that many who drive past know me, by sight if not by acquaintance. I laugh, telling them I’ve got two perfectly good vehicles sitting in my driveway, but would rather use my two perfectly good feet instead.
Usually, they look at me as if I’ve taken leave of my senses (they’re not far wrong) and then, laughing a little, accept my thanks and drive on. I am grateful for their kindness.
But, I’d rather walk when I can. This old body needs to move more, anyway.
And, I can see the colors better.
I suppose I could see them from the driver’s seat, but for some reason, the glass and metal of a vehicle seem more like barriers to me than like an invitation to a vista.
Outside works best for viewing outside.
It’s funny. I used to think the sky was blue, with white clouds and a yellow sun hanging above it all. Three colors.
Three.
It’s how I remember drawing every picture I produced as a child. Every one. Blue sky — white clouds — yellow sun. I might have thrown in a brown and green tree if I was feeling unusually painterly on that particular day.
