Today the giraffes came riding in,
Bringing their tall graceful selves.
Reticulated.
Resplendent in black and white.
I can imagine how they will be in the evening
Against the setting sun
Against a background of that lone acacia tree.
Is that landscape a cliché?
How can a landscape be a cliché?
It’s something straight out of nature, isn’t it?
I do not know.

Tomorrow it may be a pristine white
Taking me to an imagined white landscape
One that I don’t know. Unfamiliar.
But one that I can step into
Always for the first time.

Then it may be plain orange.
Plain? Did I say plain?
How can orange be plain?
It came to us straight from the Sun!
The Sun who laughed and said to us,
“You!  You, who cannot look me in the eye, here, take this little dot,
This particle,
This brightness of a flare,
This spark,
Here, take and make what you want of it.”
And he laughed as we went into myriad shades of orange.
Plain, huh?

Then sometimes the flowers come along.
Swaying and swinging in their brightness
Sometimes the red is of the skirts of the tribal women
Skirts that sway with their gait, gracefully
Creating waves of red and orange and tribal.

Sometimes, it’s the lavender of the lavender fields.
Filling me with a sense of beauty
And oh! the intoxicating fragrance that assaults my senses
There, in those lavender fields, you feel anything is possible
You close your eyes and the world is yours.

And then you turn to black.
Black envelopes you
Can bring you down
Or embrace you in the warm hug of a night of rest.
And in the black
As your eyes get used to the darkness
You see more clearly.
It’s all there
All your thoughts on the ceiling
Hanging there, waiting to drop on you, the minute your eyelids droop.
And before you drift off,
You know, I know,
Tomorrow is another day,
Another day to go somewhere,
Get lost
Not come back to this window.

What I wear is where I am.