A Color Without a Name is…

He is a strength unlike any other. He is swift and true and brave. He is the ocean at its deepest, fiercest. He is proud, but not too boastful. He is the sky on a hot cloudless day. He is the typhoon, the earthquake, the mountains towering. He is honest and loyal and pure.

She is a goddess incarnate. She is the power that gives man and woman the will to fight. She will hold a lover’s hand close to her heart. She will rend any enemies asunder. She is powerful, not to be trifled with. She dances with the history of her people before your eyes each night. She will speak her opinion with certainty and authority. She does not think; she is action.

He, on the other hand, is gentle. He will not shout unless he’s delighted. His dances are slower, a ballroom gown twisting in the summer breeze. He does not fight for a voice, an existence; he simply is. He can be somber, an oak tree standing tall, not quite imposing. He can be joyous, new buds of life springing into the world. He always has been, in every shade, and I hope he always will be.

She is all the light in the world. She stands out with honor, untarnished by pride or sorrow. She is the mother, from which all others are born. Although she is old, the oldest, she is still pure and bright. You cannot dim her, and still call her by name. You cannot deny her. She is the joining of all creation. She is wholeness.

He gets a bad rap, to be honest. He is the father of all the rest, or perhaps their fate? He is strong on his own, too strong, overwhelming. He is the confusion of the others’ arguments, too mixed up to tell any one voice from the others. Yet, he is peaceful, for all are equal in his presence. He is the judge’s robes, the very law of the land. He carries them all in his multitudes.

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