I had a dream the other night, in which a man informed me that there was a parcel with paints for my mother. And since my mother had passed away some years ago, did I want him to send me the paints? There were twelve colours. And maybe two more.
I hesitated. A parcel of paints. High shipping cost. Unreliability of South Africa’s postal service. The abundance of paints I already had. Was it worth it?
Yes! I said. Send me the paints!
And will they arrive, the twelve colours (and maybe two more)? In my mind, they already have. Here are the colours I inherited from my mother:
1. The azure blue of looking at the world with clarity
2. The exploding yellow-gold of joy at all things living
3. The wine-red of old friendships deepening with time
4. The precarious peach of all things fragile
5. The black of practicality
6. The enticing white of blank pages just waiting for pen or paint
7. The darker blue of melancholy at madness
8. The purple to wear when one grows old
9. The Naples yellow of wonderment at nature
10. The chocolate of getting grubby (but happy!) in mud
11. The turquoise of staying a child at heart
12. The violet of a sustaining faith
And two more? The colour of dreams and the colour of love, whatever they may be.