Green: the heart chakra, the seat of love. Kermit the Frog may sing about how hard it is being green, but I have noticed the trees do just fine with it, even though the first signs of spring actually arrive with the color red. Once the trees' winter nakedness becomes more than I can bear, I am on the hunt for spring, which is about the time I notice that the trees are wearing tiny, red buds on the ends of their branches, like tiny red mittens. These buds triumphantly lead the procession into spring's baby green, a sparkling kelly green, which waits for just the right moment to make its grand entrance. As spring turns into summer, so does the green, becoming deeper, richer and more grown-up, until the leaves start to wither a bit, making them look old and tired. Finally, fall sweetly surrounds us with oranges, cranberries and lemons, the trees' last hurrah before the confetti-like shedding that introduces us once again to winter.
Blue: throat, communication. Even though this chakra is associated with the throat, I wish it was in my hands. Blue could warm my arthritic fingers, so they would fly across the keyboard, making the cursor dance, magically turning my words into publishable material.
Indigo: the third eye, the color of the gloaming, the ability to see beyond the veil of our physical understanding and grasp the spiritual. The sky of the gloaming isn't blue and it isn't purple, but is somewhere in between. During this indigo pause, day and night merge and switch places, thus creating a twilight magic, a symphony of mystery and transformation.
Violet: the crown chakra, connectedness to/with God. I automatically think of Ingeborg's African violets. Once, when we were grocery shopping together, she bought me a 4" pot of profusely-blooming, miniature African violets that were violet instead of the deep purple I'm used to. I groaned inwardly. Another plant for me to kill, I thought. "Don't throw them away when they stop blooming," Ingeborg instructed. "Just remove the brown and keep watering them. They'll come back." She always says this and it never works. Oh, man, I thought. But when they stopped blooming, I followed directions. I cut off the brown and placed the violets in my plant hospital, a sunny counter-top next to my mudroom sink. Sometimes a two-week retreat to my plant hospital is all my plants need to recover and come back from the dead. Two years have passed and Ingeborg's African violets not only got well, but they look just as profuse and lovely as they did on the day she gave them to me.
Have a colorful, tasty autumn weekend!