A Prayer to Blue

I call to Blue, Blue of the deep mind and the fine hand,
Blue of art and of intellect. Clear as the sky,
clear as a bell, clear as fresh spring water, your cool hand
calms the feverish brow, forms passion into creation,
directs the eye and turns the heart toward insight
and toward spirit. You see the beauty of the world,
O Blue; you flow within us, you firm our feeling,
you take the chaos of vision, the burning of inspiration,
the twice-sharp blade of ecstasy, and grant to us
the might to grasp the transcendent, to convey
the inexplicable, to see from behind
the eyes what lies beyond the dark, beyond the real.

A Prayer to Red

I call to Red, fire of life, fire of passion,
fire of fury, fire that burns bright, burns hot, that sears
the soul. All must be full, all must be whole, all must
be bright, and sharp, and harsh, and deep, all must be all.
To scream to the sky, to sing to the sea, you call
to the world to see itself as you do. Fire of love,
your glance ignites us, your breath scalds our skin,
your touch brands us as yours. Without your flame
we wither, without your heat we soon grow cold.
Many-splendored Red of the light and of the dark,
you are rage, you are pleasure, you are the firestorm,
you are the soul of the artist and the lover.

A Prayer to Orange

I call to Orange, ever-moving, ever-changing,
ever-alluring one, you are warm and then cool,
dark and then light; you are uncertain, hard to see
truly because in you are many truths. You see
all sides, you know all faces, in contrast
and in paradox you make your home. You know
that laughter and tears lie side by side in the heart.
Mirth is yours, and joy, and merry-making; you play
all games, you care little for dignity or for
propriety, for change is a joy, if you but
join in, and transformation need not be so solemn.
Catalyst, impulse, goad, caprice, you find a way!

A Prayer to Green

I call to Green, Green of the wilderness, Green
of the fae, Green who gives much, who gives life, who gives
enough, for enough is all we need. Mother of all,
mother of mothers, you are abundance
and you are sufficiency, you are the soft grass
and the many-colored flowers of the field.
All that is new comes from you; all that flourishes,
all that thrives, all that live their lives are blessed by you.
You remind us of the joy that lies in plenty,
of the comfort in certainty--sure of warmth
in winter, sure of food when hungry, sure of love
when needed. As we grow our garden, we know you.