Periwinkle Innocent

Periwinkle.
My eye is drawn to it
And my hand follows.
Taking it from the box
I read its name.
I savor the sound and feel of it
On my tongue and imagine
Fields of flowers.

Innocence.
The smell of crayon
Is forever wrapped in my mind
With the whirring
Sound of the sewing machine.
My grandmother sews dresses
In bright colors,
And I color in soft pastels,
Creating together.

Green and pink and periwinkle
Dance across the page
In endless rhythm,
Intertwining with memories of
A sweet and innocent child
playing in the sun.
The colors still invoke
The taste, the feel of innocence,
A time when I was free,
Simplicity.

Written April 12th, 2006