On Sunday morning it was hot and very humid (though not, I concede, nearly as much so as in Bangladesh, where someone I love is now doing cholera research).
As usual, I was armed with a camera.
“This one’s for my rainbow gallery. I’m short on orange,” I announced, bringing the breakfast-seeking process to a screeching halt so I could squint in the sun and click away at day lilies. “I have everything else.”
“You know there’s not really an indigo.”
As it turned out, however, when I mined my recent photographs for indigo, it was a surprisingly elusive hue.
But I still believe in it.