Red which I love more than I love – I confess – most people whom I know.
I love humanity, of course. Flora, fauna, everything and this vast vagueness, I feel, compensates for my extravagant love of a non-human abstract like a colour…..
All colours……Red, however, I love to distraction.
Red, like all primary colours, which cannot be reduced to anything but itself and does not ask for enhancement or absolution or analysis
Whose scientific explanation drains the world of its colour and sets dead words in its place
I don’t know the names of the shades of red. I don’t think that such shades exist unlike for other colours
Red or not red. No need for the ever-discriminations and ever-judgments of the mind
Red like war and anger like madder dye like love more like passion including envy like certain flowers like the cross of the English St. George like fresh blood like sunset like Mars like the rim of a spewing volcano like my mother’s nails like STOP.
Nothing much here of huge importance.
But this horde of reds which I visit in May often when azalea is in bloom: a particular pleasure. Carries me through winter.
It is like one of those hiding places of children: palpitatingly pleasurable: holding one’s breath for as long as one can and waiting to be discovered with a shriek.
Flame azaleas and one variety of rhododendron. Winterthur, Delaware, 2011-2018. Legacy of Henry Francis du Pont, 1860-1969.