Tinged with Yellow

Days tinged with yellow sing to me:
stamen fuzz brushing against my hand
poppies softly spilling over rocks
early morning sun rising behind the mountains, forsythia shouting yellow to the wind, fireflies dotting the darkness, ribbon of soft moon drifting across waves, the “live strong” bracelet I wear for my baby sister, the color of my shirt when I’m missing her most.

Soft as an August day, yellow’s an embrace
warm and welcoming a dear friend listening deeply.

Yellow’s the color of my dreams, a golden promise, humming like echoes of hope and healing whistling my favorite tunes catching the laughter. It tastes like sweet honey still in the comb smells like perfume of the gods.

Yellow-tinged days make me want to break into blossom, blow kisses with great abandon and strut around like summer.

— Rita J. Bresnahan