There are times when I would really love to be able to live the world in black and white. Maybe it's that things appear more beautiful when they are pared down, or maybe sometimes the simplicity of one scale is just what I desire. It's something like wanting to clean out my closet or to cut my hair short. To make my life clean, to whittle what I am and what I see down to the bones of being. I could live my life just paper and pencils, just fabric and water, or just daylight and moonlight. I could live my life just arms, legs, and the light that chooses the most beautiful ways to fall upon the faces of my friends. And all of these things, perhaps, could be even easier, even simpler, in the sole spectrum of black to white.
But there are the mundane things, too. The things that maybe aren't so beautiful, now, may not be improved by the greys of my vision. Chapped lips, slush, flossing my teeth. A snowy hill benefits from the sunset the frames it. And who has not longed for a red rose?
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