After the storm last night, which exploded 3.5 inches of rain from the sky in less than a few hours, I saw something I had never seen before: first a certain shade of gold banking the horizon, and then a deep orange, lit from within. The colors were smooth, watercolor saturated, filling the western sky under the wide lifting of clouds.
We ran out to the deck to watch, the rain still falling lightly around us, the air newly-cooled. “Look,” Ken said, pointing to the south, where we saw a sliver of rainbow, the sky through it darkening but still tinged with light.
I remember a student I had at Goddard who deeply valued the color orange, telling me it was the color of creativity, surprise and magic. Through her eyes, I’ve come to look for orange more, whether it’s the orange rounded fox in the firefox icon on this computer’s desktop, an orange shirt I see a friend wearing at the food co-op, or those lanky lilies crowding through weeds on the roadside. I’ve been learning the ways of orange, how it generally adds imagination to any setting, showing me something I didn’t expect and opening my mind to what can come at any moment. Like last night when an orange sky welcomed me home to where the storm ends and night begins.