It lasts only a moment. That short space of Time when my eye catches a color in the sunset, and I have no idea what the name of that color is. Not purple, not magenta, not orchid. Not even blue. It saturates my vision for a split second, but quickly shifts then dissipates. The horizon now sports a normal every day beautiful sunset.

But in that fraction of a moment while my eye is registering and trying to categorize that unusual, mystical color, my mind is transported somewhere. I’m not sure exactly where, but there’s a longing there to see that color again and it is strong. Almost irresistible. My heart and soul have been a closed door for a while against creativity and expansion. But the second I see that indescribable color, that magical hue I can’t even describe, I’m taken to a new but familiar and comforting place of creativity. It renews. It re-establishes. It opens the channel to that place I haven’t been able to reach into for a long time.

This is the story of the winter-almost-spring magical sunset, glorified by the silhouettes of naked trees against the watercolor sky no one has ever painted. Yet.