There it is, just growing around the neighbourhood.
Even purple street art seems right somehow – I like to imagine the paint was pressed from petals hanging over walls or flicked like dust from French lavender.
Purple is grand, striking and just a tiny bit posh.
It’s not as Look at me Look at me and flashy as the colour red but it is a head turner just the same.
Look at some of the purply words out there –
Saying them aloud makes me feel like a 19th century lady with my taffeta skirts swishing down the hallway taking tea in fragile china cups after doing a bit of flower arranging. I am a bit fancy when I say those purply words but am not all in your face about it.
Purple – you brighten my day subtly, unobtrusively. You take the blinding blue sky and dilute it, comforting me like the hand of a friend on my shoulder.
I like that it only takes a few steps out of my door to find you.
I like that I notice you almost without noticing.
I like that you are the colour of morning and evening.
I like that you are hazy and clear.
I like that Alice Walker knows exactly what I mean –
I think that it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.