A green swath of grass awaits the arrival of my feet. My toes curl around the joyous green leaves, anxious for a chance to race across the lawn. I scan the horizons and see green rain-forests laden with water from a fresh rain of peace and hope. The Appalachians bubble from the ground, thick with the green of Nature. Trees drop green candy apples from the slopes; the fruit is filled with yet untasted splendor. A weather ball on the hill is lit with green; all will be fair tonight as I stare at the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. The boats have green lights on their starboards, the right sides, and the right hand is the proper one. I politely stab broccoli trees with my fork and swallow green chloroplasts. Trees flicker along the highway, where a green stoplight says go. So I go, and land in a patch of four-leaf clovers with leprechauns dancing on their pots of green money. The clover waves peacefully in the breeze like a sea of green.

A red circle of sun lights the sky to magenta. It glows with red heat, warming the evening’s shadows. I stand at the base of my own shadow, and my thoughts drift to thoughts of red. The flames of the sun dance in the fireplace; red cinders heat marshmallows and transform my skin to rosy hues. Red balloons float above on Valentine’s Day; Cupid fires red love from a well-worn quiver in the ashen clouds. Lava bursts forth from a volcano, pounding the earth and sky with puddles of red. It stampedes down the mountain, red heat cascading and boiling across the rock. A bull, enraged by red, charges forward with the bloodrath. The matador tenses, eyes reflecting the red passion of the bull, and swirls his cape into the air. Red blood rushes from his broken wounds; they spill his terror and agony to the sea. The screaming crowd stops for the red stream that flows past. And I, too, stop for the intense passion boiling red.

Warm red mingles with the soil; the green plants seep up the life given by the blood. The plants grow in red earth, soaring into the arc of sky above, where Santa rides his sleigh on Christmas morn. The children with rosy faces stare in awe at green Christmas trees decorated with red bows and ribbons, and red firelight dances among the green needles. Stockings are hung amid garland draped on the mantle, red pouring from a myriad of green. Poinsettias and roses bloom green and red, but the colorblind are unaware. I close my eyes and feel red gurgling from its place opposite green on the color wheel while the art teacher says it is imperative to use red to darken green, and green to darken red. I brush a portrait of a red Mars battling itself over green and peace. The planet appears, and I lie in the grass. My heart beats its red pulse against the green Eden; both are life.