The last thing the sky does before it rests is give you color.
Magenta. Red. Pink. Cornflower blue. Black at the roots where the day finishes. Orange and gold and rose above where the day is still giving. The flowers rise into all of it without hesitation, as if they have been waiting for this exact light to arrive.
This is the sunset that is not a metaphor. The flowers that are not symbolic. The painting that is not asking you to feel something specific. It is simply showing you what happens at the end of every single day if you are lucky enough to be looking up.
Three and a half inches by six. The size of something you keep close. The size of a reminder you place where you will find it.
The universe gives. The sky gives. The flowers receive and rise.
The Last Color.
The last thing the sky does before it rests is give you color.
Magenta. Red. Pink. Cornflower blue. Black at the roots where the day finishes. Orange and gold and rose above where the day is still giving. The flowers rise into all of it without hesitation, as if they have been waiting for this exact light to arrive.
This is the sunset that is not a metaphor. The flowers that are not symbolic. The painting that is not asking you to feel something specific. It is simply showing you what happens at the end of every single day if you are lucky enough to be looking up.
Three and a half inches by six. The size of something you keep close. The size of a reminder you place where you will find it.
The universe gives. The sky gives. The flowers receive and rise.
The Last Color.
