write about orange

Orange. The crisp smell of sweet citrus as you are sprayed with the juice of an orange being peeled. No, a clemintine. Orange is both bitter and sweet, both fiery and wet.

The strange smell of fake orange scented things, like banana, science has not really been able to capture the natural essence of orange.

Carrots boiling in a stew; orange is the soft almost candy taste of cooked carrots or yams.

Cream popsicle, summer day, the drop melting on a child’s lip. The sherbert that I don’t want, I prefer the green or pink or white. The M&M I eat before the green, red and blue. Do I eat orange or yellow first? I go brown, tan, yellow then orange.

Orange is the sunset, no the sun. Our sun is yellow and red and orange. Blazing reflection of bursting colored sunset clouds.

Orange is the belly of a shell, and the crustacian living inside. The butterfly wing of a monarch.

Pumpkin fields in October covered with the mushy bumpy sight of orange. The color of everything in the fall, from muffins, to pies, to cider to falling leaves.

Orange is bold and beautiful. It can be fresh or sickening. It can be enlivening or halting. It is a strong color.

Orange light is barely ever used on stage, as far as I know. You can get orange gels, but more often people want pink and red and blue and golden yellow, even green. Orange can be too exotic. It can be eastern and middle eastern; the color of oriental pillows and Indian saris, the Egyptian perfume bottle, the desert harem tent or the carpet in Arabian nights.

Orange is almost a state of emergency.