It’s time I admit I look for purple everywhere. I found these dreaming leaves and a tempting mushroom in Cockaponset State Forest this weekend (the photos are untreated.) In stores, I scan clothing racks and my gaze snaps to shades of purple. If I have to choose game pieces, accessories, or cell phone covers, purple is my default.
My college application essay was about ‘being purple’ and I recall my advisor reading the first paragraph out loud to me just before graduation, in my final week at Cornell, because he thought it would be amusing to look back. I promptly ripped the pages from his hands in embarrassment. When I left the office, I tossed the essay in the garbage. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t keep it because I have forgotten its contents and now I don’t know what it means to be purple. I’d like to know.
Despite all this, I don’t think of purple as being my color. I actually think of it as being my grandmother’s. Maybe that’s why I look for it wherever I go.