Today’s Collab Week post by Nikita Mujumdar is about the colour Orange. Nikita writes on her blog at http://bloodsweatandtiaras.blogspot.in/
It was the first day of autumn.
It was dusk.
A magnificent oak tree stood steadfastly in the grass, casting a long shadow over the nearest cottage. Its spreading branches bowed ever so slightly under the weight of hundreds of leaves, which rustled softly in the light autumn breeze but held fast to the tree. The leaves, once a dull shade of green, had taken on a faint orange tinge, and were beginning to wither.
In the midst of the foliage, a swarm of bees had built their home. The hive itself hung down from a branch, dark and unwelcoming, but inside, the hexagonal honeycombs glistened. A muted hum filled the air as the bees flitted about a clump of marigold that grew at the foot of the tree.
It was peaceful.
It was calm.
Behind the oak tree, the sun was starting to set, casting a hazy orange glow over the landscape. Dark clouds were forming in the sky, as if in anticipation of the times to come, and there was a chill in the air. In the distance, a tributary snaked through the countryside, catching the light of the fading sun and the water sparkled as it made its way to the sea, babbling gently all along.
The nearby cottage was surrounded by a low fence. Fragrant wisteria vines wound their way around the wood, and ivy grew thick and unkempt along the back wall and sloping roof. The garden had been neatly pruned, and poppies and hyacinth blossomed, their petals shining in the evening sun. The house was quiet. Upstairs, the curtains were drawn, but a dim orange light shone from the downstairs window.
Inside the cottage, a fire blazed merrily. But the occupants of that house were not as merry. They sat huddled around a wireless radio, their faces grim, and their future uncertain.
It was the first of September.
It was 1939.