Of Crayola’s 1,345,678 colors I have yet to see brorange.
Ironic, considering it is the most beautiful color of fall.
Brorange isn’t something though that can be synthetically created. It is a reminder to all of us that Mother Nature still has a leg up over technology and Jotun. It is the color of an old leaf resting on the sidewalk which hasn’t withered yet, but rather is newly retired from its full time career as a tree branch staffer.
It’s the color of wild grass that still retains a burnt glow of the afternoon sun, but with small brownish freckles from tanning under it all summer.
And brorange is one of the few colors that has a smell. In the morning, its a mixture of cold rain and warm cinnamon… that ferments into a midday scent resembling freshly cut grass and smoked almonds… by the evening, its mist of pumpkin pickled with pecans mingles with our noses.
You can hear brorange too. Its stillness in the morning crackling through the window… a song, no a symphony with movements peppered by schoolkids at their bus stops giggling and yawning… by the strings of rakes plucking through yards and gardens.
Brorange is the only color you can touch… it’s fragile, but not frail… it’s leather lined by rough suede… it bends, but doesn’t break… it’s the fabric upholstery of tree bark, ripe apples and the air at dawn.
Brorange is the only color that is reincarnated… its life is short, but its lifespan is eternal… the sadness of its departure is a sweet sorrow really… because even though it’s gone, it always comes back every fall.