Red. The dirt. Not anger or love, but of hard work and
determination as your foot hits the ground and is graced by the ruby road.
Green. But not lush, it is dusty and begs for rain. Thriving
where it can, in unexpected places. Each blade was made to live here, and
therefore is strong.
Light blue. The sky, always an endless pasture of beauty,
rarely interrupted by white floating marshmallows.
Deep blue. The dam. Where there is water. It sparkles in a
way I haven’t seen because it is so treasured and blessed.
Black. The darkness of his skin. Only noticed by a white
fella who grew up on white fella land. But soon the contrast fades and we become
connected, because there is no difference. We must see through to the colours
of the soul.
Orange. Never a more beautiful dawn or dusk. A hundred
photos could not capture. But oh, how we tried.
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