Here’s how a certain color, orange in particular, manifests itself in the brain of the blind dude…as a poem. I Am Orange
I am orange. Not an orange, though I like the way it tastes.
I am the blossom of clouds on the horizon at sunset and the first beam of sunlight blessing the morning.
I am the sun passing from portal to portal, dividing the sky and defining time.
I pull the best from the colors that flank me: the romance out of red and the risk out of yellow.
I am the complexion of fire, warming as much as possible, burning when I need to burn.
I am the thoughts of a newborn child who has yet to know language, with little to mediate his surroundings, longing to know his world.
Halloween runs through my veins and keeps me in a nice dark place where I can get a thrill, a chill and a shrill, reminding me that dark isn't deadly.
On those rare days when all’s well – the weather is a breezy 72 degrees, everyone is helpful and friendly, two old problems are solved and the bills are paid – orange is what I am.