I love red. The grandkid's French description of me included 'aime la couleur rouge' and she was not talking about makeup. I wear a lot of red and notice it. Mind you, red is a colour made to be noticed: stop lights and stop signs, lipstick, warning labels, all of these things are red. So are Santa, sunsets and cinnamon hearts.
The problem is, what red?
The soil and rocks in Utah and Colorado are described as red. So is a lot of brick, but it is really an orangey, um, brick colour.
Autumn leaves are also sung about as red, but, again, a lot of them are shaded with enough yellow to make them bronze and orange.
My elder daughter's hair is described as red, but it is really a gorgeous copper colour when the sun shines on it. My father-in-law was nicknamed 'Red' for similar hair, but his was truly a carrot top.
The red I love has no tinge of yellow or blue - it's right down the centre of the spectrum. Alizarin crimson or rose madder, not vermilion or scarlet. The red of roses and raspberries. The red of blood.
I will consider other reds, especially if they decorate a canoe.
|The YD, spring canoeing.|
Or a tulip.
Or a geranium seen against green leaves.
I'll take every shade and tone of red in a sunset's fleeting glory.
|Sunset from Vancouver Island.|
This week my husband brought me home roses, deep red and perfect.
I have them in a white vase and admire them as they slowly unfurl into velvet wonder. As for other velvet wonders, what could top this?
|Little Stuff, Age 8 months.|
I will say that roses are easier to photograph.