Sunrise ripples across clouds in bands of pink and blue. Gazing up from below, I wonder if this is what a fish sees when the setting sun stretches across the waves.

Horton Park

Sunrise splashes across the sky in brilliant bands of tangerine an flamingo pink, clamshell purple and ocean blue that could be the flag of a tropical island nation.

Horton Park

Of course, even tropical island nations don't actually have flags incorporating the colors of their lands. For several years, before small children made such intricate and time-consuming pastimes an impossibility, we celebrated United Nations Day each October by making flag cookies. We baked dozens of rectangular (and one custom-cut pennant for Nepal) sugar cookies; gathered small cake decorating spatulas, colored gel tubes, and toothpicks; and mixed up dishes of colored royal icing. The biggest dishes were occupied by the basic red, blue, yellow, black, white and green. With smaller dishes for orange and light blue, we pretty much had our bases covered.

What would the world be like if, instead of the strident primary palette, our flags were composed of more nuanced, natural colors, reflecting the land of their origins? 

A crystalline morning scrubbed clean by cold, like pioneers used to scrub pots with snow.
Icy wind carves awareness of every contour of my face.
Stars sparkle overhead, but the heat of their distant fires does not reach the treetops.  
Dawn rejoices, spreading a pristine cerulean glow across the sky.

Horton Park

Crows stream across a polished-smooth sky beginning to glow pink-gold with sunrise. As their morning errands take them from perches along the Mississippi, their black wings seem drawn toward the west's lingering dark.

West Bank Station, Green Line