Saturday morning is my favorite.
Around 7 or 8, I’ll go downstairs and open the blinds. The sun pours into the room and I get to close my eyes for a moment to soak in the warmth hitting my lashes.
When the sun is out like this, it streams onto our dining room table and saturates everything. The smallest folds in the linen cloth create these dramatic shadows that hug my mummified flowers.
These little things things create my calm.
When the sun trades places with the moon on those days, I’ll escape to class. Tonight, while incense burned, we crossed our legs, shut our eyes and thought about color.
What color represents me?
What color radiates from inside?
My first thought was peach.
It is warm. It is soft. It is tenderly sweet.
We were in the center of an open room at the center of the art museum. People were strolling through the halls on either side of us. Everything was in motion as we did our best to stay grounded.
The air was cool, but all I thought about were grilled peaches, honey and dollops of cream.
Peaches remind me of Saturday mornings when I open the blinds to welcome that orange glow.
And as I was lost in those thoughts of food and sunshine, I heard our instructor say,
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