In my dreams I see reds and purples and blues as vividly as blacks and greys and whites. Sometimes yellows and greens stand out over the rest. When I was a young girl, someone told me that this was impossible, that our dreams were all in black and white. I decided I must have a Technicolor painter editing my dreams because the colors were what I remembered most when I awoke.
The sun is missing today. This bear can attest to that. His shades are useless, farcical, with their oversize hearts. London skies are a sun vacuum, replacing the brilliant golds with bitter grey. I feel it today, a particular type of unkindness settling beneath my tepid skin. In Texas I would be burning with joy, instead of drowning in apathy. Come back oh yellow beam of light, return and warm my muted heart. Remind me why I love London summertime, or why I think I do.