Tag Archives: red
They hide inside a steamed-up greenhouse, only releasing their sharp scent when the door opens. Plump green tomatoes, waiting to ripen. Bursting red ones, ready to be picked. I twist one off and pop it in my mouth.
Summer’s residue, they slowly change from pink to red. Pregnant with Autumn’s promise of harvest and plenty – a dream of fire-lit hearths and steaming mugs of rose hip tea.
Five people sit on red squashy sofas, intently watching the large TV screen. Engrossed in the story, experiencing the highs and lows together. A temporary bond but a powerful one.
I stroke it through her fur, leaving perfect lines. She loves its white plastic bristles, its red wooden back. Eventually she’ll start to play, but for now she just luxuriates.
It stands proud of the patch of wildflowers. Its delicate red petals curling and floating in the breeze, it displays its black heart. A beautiful flower doomed to remind us of the blood and horror of war for eternity.
It starts out white as a bowl of cream. The machine adds colours – blue, yellow, green, red. Each in exact quantities, calculated to the last millilitre. As it mixes, the perfect blue emerges like magic.
A red tablecloth transforms our everyday table, which is soon groaning with cakes of every size and flavour. Friends arrive to drink tea and eat the fruits of my labour. I think of all the people, near and far, who … Continue reading
Its dark, evergreen branches seem dusted with red buds. Its branches move in the wind, like a flamenco dancer swishing her skirt.
Bright red in the sunshine, it lies discarded on the grass verge. Yet still, in white lettering, it plies its trade, cheerfully admonishing its careless owner to “Use me again and again!”