How yellow is yellow?

Yellow is not one of my favorite colors.  It's partly vanity.  I can't wear it.  It doesn't match my olive skin.  It's partly that it's too yellow.  This made sense to me when I heard a story once about a man who was born sightless asked people to describe colors.  When he had surgery to restore his eyesight he is said to say, "yellow is really very yellow."  This makes sense to me.  Yellow is really very yellow.

When spring came to Ofunato and Rikuzentakata I felt I was being bombarded by yellow.  Daffodils, tulips, freesia are all yellow.  Then come the dandelions.  I don't know what it is about these flowers and the yellowness of them--it bothered me.  I recognize part of my frustration at the color yellow was the fact nature seemed to resurrect itself in the midst of chaos and devastation.  This seemed too unfair.  The other part of my frustration was how vibrant all this yellowness was.  I can't explain this.  I felt bombarded by yellow that was very yellow and very real.

I was walking down a sidewalk on the way to visit someone when I walked past this.  These two dandelions were growing out of the wall of a drainage pit.  One of the flowers reached up through the metal mesh grill.  Of course, being dandelions, they are yellow.  Very yellow.  Of course.  Everything that's yellow is very yellow.

This kind of yellow, this kind of "flower" (a weed, really) I like.  The ability of this dandelion plant to grow out of a concrete wall from a drainage system--this personifies the unstoppable ability of nature to come back with resolve and stubbornness.  This, I like.  This kind of yellow is good.

I'm not sure this makes a lot of sense.  Having had difficulty expressing myself over the past six weeks I'm grasping at metaphors and symbolism in ways I never have before and perhaps this is all a bit odd to you.  It does make sense to me.  I want to be like the dandelion that pops out of places nature isn't supposed to be.  If I have to wear yellow to do this, bring it on.

Not feeling guilty

I wrote yesterday about daffodils and how they anger me.  I see more today.  Of course.  It's spring.  More flora will bloom in the next several weeks.  I realize it would behoove me to find a way to enjoy nature's beauty and not be constantly angered by the inequality of how it behaves.  I realize this.

It hit me this morning as we were mucking out a man's yard.  Half of his trees were blooming and the other half were dead.  He pointed out his rose bushes and said, "if they soak in salt water long enough evidently they die."  Neither of us knew that.  It's not common knowledge now, is it--except it's not rocket science and once I realize roses aren't meant to be underwater, much less salt water it all seems pretty obvious.  He was lamenting the loss of his bushes and trees when he pointed out his daffodils and tulips.  I now hate tulips as well.  I just do.

My phone rang and it was "the official" (again) and so I walked across the street to get away from the yard to take the call.  My dislike for nature is something to behold.  Again, I'm not proud of it, but I claim it.  Who goes around saying "I don't like nature"?  Right?

I pace as I talk on the phone saying "hai" (yes) a lot.  I thank him for all he's done, say things that he'll like, ask him yet one more favor.  I keep pacing.  Then I look down.  I see them.  More daffodils.  These are daffodils that will clearly not survive.  There are no flowers.  The stalks are yellowing.  These must have been affected by the salt water in a way I can't explain.

If you're a nature lover and you don't like seeing things die then you should probably stop reading here.  I'm not proud of what I did but neither do I feel guilty.  Here it is:  I stomped on them.  If felt good.  It's my one small act of rebellion against beauty that destroys.  It did appease my anger even if it was just for a bit.  I doubt I'll need to do it again.  If I do, I probably won't tell you about it.  There's certainly enough else going on here that I can write about.  I needed to say this to you once:  I am not a nature fan.  I appreciate the beauty but not this time around.  It did too much damage for me to love spring flowers.