The Colour of Light

The color of light on a bright

Day over the sound

Is hard to tell.

It ought to be clear

It seems wrong even

To talk about its colour

As if light were an object or a painting or a concrete thing

Instead of being just thin air with waves

Of the sun’s energy pouring through it.

When you see it over the mountains and off into the distance

One mountain upon another

Layer after layer

The light becomes 

More like a cotton wisp with each

Successive peak

And each becomes a little more blue

And blues the very mountain tops

Until mountain and sky and

Distance melt together

Into a common color

For which there is no name.

When the sun shines on through

The late afternoon and brushes the horizon with

Blush strokes of coral light

As if a soft giant has

Brushed against the tapestry of life

It is so perfectly proportioned

The strength of colour

Matched to the intensity of sun

To the lightness of air

To the transience of the day

And life itself.

But don't you try to name it.

 © Philip Knight 2018