INUNDATED: Color My World By Nan Ressue

Word Count 460
Color My World
By Nan Ressue
My world has always inundated with color. From my current vantage point of age, I know that the shade and intensity of my colors were altered as I experienced my lifetime of challenges and rewards. When I was young and struggling through the disturbing process of maturing, pastel tints were the comfortable choice, hardly any color at all, an undefined beginning. Colors brightened as maturity developed true hues, unsullied by negatives, resulting in a joyous collection of reds, blues, golds, and greens. Midlife loves and losses usually dulled or greyed the colors while happiness and satisfaction caused a smoothness and an intensified result, still warmly beautiful but showing exposure to a hard surfaced world.
Upon rare occasion there has been an experience with a higher octave color, one that is somehow familiar but elevated to a place of beauty where it not yet has been named. It happened in the drugstore just last week. The unfamiliar woman in line in front of me was wearing a velvet jacket of an indescribable color, softened with use, muted with age but beautiful beyond description. It was a rich deep orange with a red and gold cast and dappled with pale blue purple shadows cast from the folds of the fabric.
I was transfixed and could not help but say to her “Please be careful of your coat.” What if everybody in our world was draped with higher octave colors?
My daughter’s campaign of caring has been successful and I am on my way to Assisted Living. My colors have become pretty grey and brown these days but happily have no black edges yet. The staff is a young energetic group, wearing their bright primary colors like a badge, unaware of what lies ahead. They are also calm and caring, inviting me to join the group in the dining room for lunch.
The colors in the hallway are tan and dull gold and open into the dining room where the group has gathered for their meal… There are many browns and greys of depression and apprehension defining them but still, looking closely, you can see the remnents of richer colors from happier days.
There is a white haired gentleman sitting alone at the corner table. He sits with a straight back and an alert look, smiling at acquaintances and thanking the staff for their attention. There is one of those breath taking rose gold colors draping his shoulders, softened with age and use, but still beautiful. Could it be one of those higher octave colors?
“BE brave,” I told myself approaching slowly. “Be brave. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“May I join you for lunch?” I asked, using my most charming smile.

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