the color of the air
I don't know if anyone else will understand this, but the air has color.
When I am having a bout of depression, there is a sheen of blue and grey that washes over the walls of my home. A dog barks outside my window. The candles I light flicker like distant hope. The moon's energy is somehow here in the middle of the day. My body is heavy and it's difficult to stand to my feet. I resist staring into nothing, urging my body to meet a need like food, medication, or rest. Leaving me to work hard to do the next thing.
When I'm content and even happy, then sun's rays are yellow. The room is warm and if I put on music I could dance. I can hear the birds chirping. My hand moves in circles with a damp rag to wash my kitchen counters. The smooth push and pull of my vacuum is easy. The candles smell like like flowers and they fill the room with sure hope.
I'm learning though, that neither is wholly bad. The blue of the air requires rest and compassion. The yellow of the air beckons me to find adventure outside. I can learn different lessons from each version of my experience.
I don't mind the changing colors, and I'm grateful I understand them now.