People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and its ends, but to me it’s quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them. Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
Soon it got dusk, a grapy dusk, a purple dusk over tangerine groves and long melon fields; the sun the color of pressed grapes, slashed with burgandy red, the fields the color of love and Spanish mysteries. Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds
Phyllida’s hair was where her power resided. It was expensively set into a smooth dome, like a band shell for the presentation of that long-running act, her face. Jeffrey Eugenides, The Marriage Plot
Her own hair was a glory of copper fire that morning, shining like a whisky still, long and loose in gentle flames down her back. Elizabeth Wein, The Pearl Thief
The night crackled … Everything had turned to static electricity in the heat. I combed my hair to watch the sparks fly from the ends. Janet Fitch, White Oleander
tangerine sun
Symbolic of life, hair bolts from our head[s]. Like the earth, it can be harvested, but it will rise again. We can change its color and texture when the mood strikes us, but in time it will return to its original form, just as Nature will in time turn our precisely laid-out cities into a weed-way. Diane Ackerman , A Natural History of the Senses
Each month I find TV shows, movies, and events to look forward to.
The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer…
Everyday Strange 