Red is the color of rage, but also of love, which seems a curious juxtaposition on the surface unless, perhaps, the two are more intricately linked that we like to believe.
Red flows through our veins even though it’s blue we trace lightly across our skin with our fingertips.
Red survives the white-and-gray winter by taking refuge in the cardinal’s feathers. It lives in the spring tulips, the summer strawberries, the autumn maple leaves.
Red marks the passage of time and the demise of another day at horizon’s steadfast edge.
Red guides the honey bees and hummingbirds to sow life into the endless cycle.
Red connects us all—black and brown, white, two legs or four, skin, fur, kind, selfish, innocent, guilty. We all bleed red. If only we could see the color within that unites us as living creatures upon this earth with red blood and pumping hearts and pain receptors.
We are all red.