Rainbow Weaver

In the spring she comes, weaving her trails through the forest and across the fields, her footprints leaving behind a cacophony of soft whites and bright yellows, the palest pinks and the most singular purples.  She pulls the freshest greens, unwinding the first buds of leaves from the tips of branches as she passes.  Gray clouds patter crystal drops on the brown Earth and she smiles, sparking new life everywhere she goes.

In the summer she comes, brilliant sun dawning on an azure sky, chasing the last vestiges of claret from the horizon.  Carelessly she streaks cerulean through copper and pearl, fixes butter and ebony on a plate of deep mauve.  Chalk and ocean combine to create hues of green from soft moss to deepest forest.  Here and there grape and violet compete and complement peach and crimson.

In autumn she comes, bringing her muted palette of gold and burgundy, pale yellow and faded green.  Broadly she paints with reddish brown and walnut, bringing softness of colour to the ends of a wild, chaotic summer.  Dusky rose still clings, and the sky still caresses traces of twilight and storm.  Patiently she plucks the leaves from the trees and rolls the new buds into sleep for the coming season.

In winter she comes, and weaves her rainbow into a synthesis of ice, laying a broad blanket over her cares.  Still can be found beech and sand, spruce and faded brick.  In the sable of the winter=s night she gathers her baskets of colours around her.  What new combinations might be wrought for the coming seasons?  Perhaps a slightly darker robin=s egg or a chromatic variation of a saturated yolk.

To a broken spirit she comes, and collects the truncated jumble of a tattered soul.  She washes away the dark angry reds of the wounds and binds them with a loving green, stitching with gold-threaded roots. The pitch of aggravated scars she polishes away with salmon, leaving only a shimmer of faint coral.  To the shattered pieces she has found she applies amethyst and folds them back together, applying love in generous expense.

To me she comes, bringing her plait of colours and wrapping them around.  In turn she enfolds me with hues of red for love, orange for patience, yellow for light, green for healing, blue for silence, indigo for inner wisdom and violet for my weary Self.  All of these and more she envelops with the purest White, reminding me always that I am loved.

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Mike 16/04/2002
Pedde