Red shift.
Universe expanding.
Here on earth, the season of red.
There's cranberry sauce bubbling on the stove.
So red.
Santa Claus wears a red suit.
Flannel I've always thought, with rabbit fur trim.
And aren't his checks red!
There is a cardinal at the suet feeder.
A pair of cardinals.
His bright scarlet.
Her dusky red.
Red Christmas lights in my window, twinkling.
And a red-leaved poinsettia on my table.
I've lived with her for four years now.
Ever since I learned how to make her red "blooms" appear.
Darkness.
The red "bloom" (botanically, the bracts, not the flower) appears only after the poinsettia gets enough darkness.
Fourteen hours of darkness.
(More, turns out, is fine. Yes, I have occasionally forgotten to remove the poinsettia from the dark closet where I place it at dusk, leaving it there not just all night, but all day and another night. Oops)
Red ribbons on an evergreen wreath hanging on my door.
Balsam smells so sweet.
My cheeks are red.
I went outside to great the dawn.
It snowed last night.
It's cold.
Very cold.
When I went to cut some chickweed (still growing!) for my salmon salad breakfast sandwich (on homemade bread), it was hard and frozen. Ahhh
Red berries on my Solstice tree.
Red berries on the beauty-berry bushes. (Berberis vulgaris. Barb berry)
Red berries in the Rowan tree that guards my door.
The blood from my indolent wound is red.
Bright red.
Full of minerals.
Rich in iron.
Feeding my cells.
Healing the wound.
I was surprised by my oncologist's reply when I told her my wound frequently bled.
Us lay folk tend to think that seeing blood ain't so good.
But she was delighted.
"It's not as much as you think," she said with a smile.
"And it's a good sign. A sign of healing."
Okay.
Indolent wound.
Started out three inches deep.
Yowsa!
Justine and I figured it might take a few months to heal.
She dressed my wound three times a day for a month.
Another month.
Another.
A year.
Another year, but only once a day.
Another year.
Cory tends now.
Four years later.
Twice a week.
It's almost closed.
Still bleeds.
Bright red blood.
I smile.
(Thanks for asking. No. It's doesn't cause me pain.)
Rudolph the reindeer has a red nose.
A shiny red nose.
To lead the way in the fog.
Is he an alcoholic?
Alcohol consumption breaks the capillaries in the nose, making it look red.
I hope not.
My lips are red.
Dark red.
When I wore lipstick.
From the ages of 15-19.
I wore pale shades in an attempt to make my lips less red.
Ironic.
Then I had a baby.
By the time she was two years old, I had abandoned lipstick, makeup, bras, shoes with heels, and shaved legs and armpits.
I wanted more time to focus on my daughter.
Less time attempting to make myself fit in.
Small children don't care if you are wearing lipstick or not.
Later, at public school, she cared.
Begged me to buy a polyester outfit so I wouldn't attend sporting events in my red flannel shirt and my 501 (shrink to fit) jeans.
He he he.
At least my unshaven legs were covered.
Red is the blood of the ancestors.
Red is the Motherline.
Lifeblood is red.
"Blood of the Ancients flows in my veins."
Red is the color of the setting sun, the rising sun.
The sun that seems to be in hiding as the nights grow longer and longer.
One week from today, the situation is reversed.
The darkness reigns for one long night, and then the light begins to grow.
A few minutes a day.
Noticeable if you notice.
Warmer, brighter, redder.
I walk in beauty, the beauty of red.
I breathe in a giveaway dance with the plants, savoring red berries.
My heart beats as one with the earths heart, red blood pumping.
Green blessings surround me.
Always.
Joy.
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