Seeing Orange

Today I saw orange. Orange leaves on trees. Orange leaves on the ground. The asphalt on the streets reflected orange light from overhead street lamps. An orange car passed by me. A bag of orange shreds lay on the sidewalk—discarded cheddar. Orange pumpkins decorated steps and porches and front yards. Tiny orange bulbs light the dining room window, and orange chrysanthemums adorn the dining room table. And orange has been appearing in my dreamscapes.

Orange gives rise to thoughts of fire, heat, warmth, and to thoughts of death. Autumn is an orange time. The outdoors cool down and the indoors warm up. Outside, autumn fires consume piles of summer debris; and inside, ovens bake hearty squashes and pumpkin pies. It is a time of removing and clearing. Yellowed plants are uprooted. Rotten fruit is composted. These orange thoughts ask questions of me.

What is orange in me? Do I have a place of orangeness within my soul? Is there a fire? What needs to be consumed by that fire? Is there heat? Can I feel that orange heat? What needs to be removed and cleared? What is dying and being uprooted? Do I like being orange?

Today, I saw orange; and yes, I liked it.

Day two of the Thirty Days of Seeing