May, The Colours in my Head.
In my mind I break the year up into different colours. January is delicate pale pink. Late July is a thick dark green that stains the sky. These colours aren’t arbitrary, they’re to do with the plants and the light here. I imagine that all but the least fanciful would go along with me on this. Right now, there’s a blue moment. The sophisticated bluebell, magically gathering intensity as the light fades. Hinting at unseen splendours at the violet end of the light spectrum. The forget-me-nots, ground ivy and speedwell all have my head swimming in blue.
But annoyingly I also see colours with numbers. Actually, I feel the colour more than see it. The colour is so much more compelling than the number that maths becomes unbelievably distracting. There’s always a hurry with numbers, no time to contemplate the brilliance of the lime that comes with fifty two, for instance. And last weekend, trying to do a good deed, all these colours got me in a muddle. I offered to help at our local church, flower festival. And was put in the tea tent, pouring cups of tea and coffee and taking all the money. Oh! the pressure of the prefect cup of tea as well as all that adding up.
Seventy and seventy is one hundred and forty……
and….. and…
eighty……
It’s no good, my mind is overwhelmed with a bright firey orange that floods in with one hundred and forty.
Predictably I got one old ladies total wrong, I charged her twenty pence too much. She complained loudly and continuously to everyone unfortunate enough to be within ear shot, while she chewed slowly through her scone, her large slice of carrot cake and her flap jack. She commented every time I attempted more sums. Copious apologies and a free cup of tea wouldn’t shut her up. I sweetly smiled through her parting shot, as she finally left in the pouring rain and I heartily hoped the old biddy might catch her death of cold on the way home. I also wished that I could make these colours less vivid sometimes. It’s not an excuse that goes down well. Rather be thought of as stupid than confess the rainbow in your head, has always seemed wise to me.
And so to recover my calm, I steel the last half hour of sunshine to draw a pool of pretty speedwell. Steadfast in their blueness, shivering in the evening sun, I watch as they silently close for the night.
