Colors of Life

Colors of Life





She tugged and she tugged until she pulled it right out of the ground, that pink wiggly worm, the intention of all her springtime efforts. The red breasted robin puckered her cheeks and snapped its yellow-toned beak chopping the now pale earthen worm into bits. She carried it all, each little piece, back to her nest to feed to her tribe. The lightly- feathered nestlings, all pink and downy soft, cried in their hunger, waited for mama to nestle and sate. With just a touch of green, the straw colored nest was sturdy and strong, and a home built of love for the babies three. The mama robin soothed and cooed until the babies slept, then she lifted the golden crown on top of her head, so majestic and proud. As she eyed in the distance, yet another wiggling creature, she swooped from the nest. A mama’s work is never done.

Painted orange and trimmed in black with dots of white, the butterfly, fluttered so free in its flight. It floated through the air on the gentle spurts of spring’s clear colored breeze. It landed as graceful as a lyrical song, upon a dandelion, so yellow and bold. The monarch pulled at the velvety petals, doing the work as nature intended. In the backdrop of the verdant grass of the flower’s cozy bed, a buzzing bee danced fast and unrestrained. It jiggled its body up and down in jack hammer fashion, propelling through the air. The thorax of the bee was a lemony shade and accented by stark ebony stripes. The mission was clear for the bumbling bee as she landed in the flowering field Paying no mind to the butterfly so near, for the worker bee knew, nature had bestowed a reason for the season..

He nibbled and nibbled on the purple petals that fell from the flowering tree. The sweet baby goat spit them back into the air as he waited for mama to come out and play. The tan-shaded billy-goat bolted and sprinted on wobbly legs through the falling lilac. He bounced and he played in warm amber sunshine. Satiny bumps of dirty white sat on the top of his head and spoke of the future that would one day unfold. His newness and youth, with a color of its own, so glorious and free, brought a renewal of the herd and a reason to be.

The dungareed farmer sat on his red metal tractor ready to work. He started his engine with a puff of grey smoke that arose to the sky, as it drifted away. The hum of its motor sang a mechanical hymn and the farmer drove forward with job to do. With the tools of his trade, he maneuvered the crusty brown soil out of the ground. A faint scent of earth’s goodness filled the air as he weaved through the turf. He planted his seeds in the furrows of the ground. From the growth of the seeds would spring the sustenance of man. The farmer would toil all the year through with the changing of seasons and bright-vested colors. The salty sweat of his brow would count the hours spent in the field, planting and sowing for the good of us all.

Iridescent is the teardrop that falls from the heavens. It graces the earth with tides of rejuvenation, as it cascades from the white puffy clouds overhead. Rain, whether mild or stormy, refreshes nature's greenery. The clear worthiness of life dwells in the richness of each tender drop. From the wetness of its baptism of our earth comes the resurrection of life. Hand in hand with bright golden rays our viability is sustained. Warm seasoned shades of infinite measure abound on our planet. From the bluing of our seas to purpling tint of our mountains majesty lives in the calling of God. All intervals of time and beings that be, have a story to tell and colors to paint

All the colors I remember, of a spring, so dear. Each season bursts with color, so varied and true. Life, is the moniker, I now bestow to the hue of our blessed days.

Word Count 698