Double Flowering Cherry
Pink, a color I liked when I was little. Hot or Pale or both together. Grew wary of its associations and turned to purple and olive green, then black, then just green, and now to greens, grey, brown, black and a few mauves and burgundies. Starting to like peach too. Though pink is the color I wore on an important second date. A pale pink chiffon top with a pattern of little brown leafs. It had a v-neck and cap sleeves. With jeans, of course. Wore this same top under a black suit a few weeks later to a funeral. Ok pink: In London two summers ago muted mauves and warm lavenders were everywhere, and I wanted them. Not in corduroy pants or tennis shoes or sweaters. Just in one camisole from H&M, made in Cambodia. They are gaining an excellent record for human rights in their textile production export industries, or so I have been told.
Pink is in this year, and last. To be expected in our current climate. Ask Martha- green and pink, pink and brown. For my birthday I got a package with a pale pink silk scarf with an embroidered rose and fringe, and a square of pink silk, wrapped with two salmon ribbons. Pink is the color of princesses, a thing to strive not to be, if one is privileged enough to reject such a thing. The pink trees along the sidewalk don’t look real. Incongruous surrounding parking lots. Shiny pink plush animals, fat branches overstuffed with blossoms. Mariko Mori cyber fairy tale trees. Stare up at one to be overwhelmed by glowing, iridescent pinkness.