my Musings on White

  Sort of storming

I thought a lot about the color white.
And may say less about it than before.

The white vest. 
All the white sheep. Apart the black one.
The bare bones.
Snow, merciless cold . 
White sand and the sun, unbearable heat.
White clouds. 
White socks with sandals. 
White sails on the horizon






My brown hair turns white slowly.
My nails are clean.
Your smile! 
Just incredible.







The blank page. 
The new canvas.  
The white cloth.

Any estimation, any judgment 
can be made only within the context 
to what exists aside.

White is neither good nor bad. 
Or both.  
And everything in between.
It's life as well as death.

 

White, pure light.
The reflection that blinds you.
The light that indicates the end of the tunnel.
The candle in the window, that bids you welcome.

 

White is denatured food. 
And whipped cream topping.
Sugar and salt, flour and eggs. Bake a cake.

A white tablecloth, the good china and dear guests.
Evening, crawl into a freshly made ​​bed. White linen.
Pure luck.

White is an idea.
Purity, innocence, out of reach, untouchability.
An ideal, a superlative. 


And soon ruined.
That is the point.