Color Walk

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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone

in which

nothing much happens.

You feel good,

and then you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I write and read

all the stories you'll hear on Nothing Much Happens

with Audio Engineering by Bob Wittercheim.

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That's over eight hours of sleepy storytelling to see you through the the night. All of this, plus the complete catalog, seven years of nothing much happens ad-free

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Now,

I'm going to tell you a bedtime story. It's a soft, simple place to rest your mind, a way to keep you from wandering.

And just by listening, I'll train your brain to respond in kind, more quickly and easily. I'll tell the story twice,

and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

If you wake later in the night,

turn an episode right back on.

You'll be back to sleep before you know it.

Our story tonight is called Color Walk.

And it's a story about a soft way

to move through the world on a spring day.

It's also about a box of crayons in the desk drawer, a thin jacket, a cool breeze,

storefronts and shop windows,

and elevating the everyday

with calm attention.

Lights out, friends. Get snuggled down into your sheets and get your favorite pillow in just the right spot.

Let's do a quick muscle release tonight. And we'll pair it with your deep breaths.
We're going to do three tonight. I know.
We're getting wild over here.

I want you to breathe in.

And squeeze all the muscles in your lower body. Squeeze your legs, your glutes, even your toes, hold it, and then sigh it out.

Breathe in.

Squeeze everything in your upper body, arms and fists.

Hold it and let it go.

Okay, one more. Breathe in.

And just squeeze everything, temples to toes.

Squeeze and hold one more second and

feel the release of the tension in your body.

Good.

Color walk

From the kitchen table

I could see the treetops moving in the breeze.

It didn't look too strong,

not even a wind,

just a zephyr

that stirred the new buds as they grew.

My mug was nearly empty,

but it still felt warm and comforting in my hands,

and I savored the last sips.

My gaze fell on to my plate,

empty but for a few crumbs and a smear of raspberry jam from the English muffin I'd just enjoyed.

I traced my finger along the plate's edge.

It was plain white porcelain,

but with a rim of deep blue

and it reminded me of the thin-stemmed grape hyacinths

that were popping up in the flower bed

beside my front door

I smiled into the dregs of my tea as an idea occurred to me

a way to spend the rest of the morning

sparked by the blues of the plate

and the matching flowers.

I hadn't gone on one in an age,

but spring was the perfect time

to revisit a favorite pastime.

Yes, today

was made

for a color walk.

The idea was simple.

Choose a color

and then go for a walk,

noticing all the places that color showed up.

Each instance

would become like a mooring post for a wandering mind.

A color walk could be a solemn, moving meditation,

or a jolly game of eye spy.

Moment to moment, it could be both.

And in the spring,

as the world leapt into color,

opportunities to notice,

to pay calm attention,

would abound.

I set my plate and cup in the sink

and went to a drawer in my desk with an idea.

I wanted a way to pick a color for today

without getting caught in an internal debate

about which would be best.

Sometimes,

even when a decision

didn't really matter, I could slip into a loop of comparing and rethinking.

This walk was meant to be a way to rest that part of myself.

So I needed to do something like

flip a coin or roll a color die.

From my drawer,

I took out a familiar yellow and green box,

the big one with a sharpener on the back that I'd treated myself to

on my last trip to the stationery store.

I closed my eyes

and flipped the top open,

letting my fingers trail over the waxy tips of the crayons.

They'd come organized, of course,

but I was in the habit of pulling them out by the handful as I used them

and sticking them back in willy-nilly.

So I truly had no idea,

even what family of color I might pull.

My finger stopped on one,

and I slid it from the pack.

I paused to feel

where the wax met the paper,

how it was peeled back a bit

from when I'd sharpened it last.

I wondered if it would be a yellow,

which I would spot in every daffodil and yield sign,

or a shade of blue,

like the sky to day.

But when I finally blinked my eyes open,

I saw I'd drawn good old burnt sienna.

Huh, I said aloud.

Didn't see that coming.

This was a color that had

helped me draw many tree trunks and brick house fronts

since my first pack of crayons

big enough to include it in grade school.

It was a utilitarian stronghold of a color.

Not one I'd have picked myself for a whimsical stroll in the spring, and that made it perfect for today.

I tucked the crayon into my pocket,

for some reason, wanting to bring it along,

and went to the door

to step into my shoes and take a thin jacket from the hook.

Outside,

I paused to zip up my jacket and feel the air on my skin.

It was one of those spring days when the sky was full of puffy clouds.

So minute to minute

you might be dazzled by sunlight or shrouded in shade

And with each shift you'd likely be pushing back the sleeves of your jacket

or tugging them back down.

Still,

just now,

the sun shone on my face,

and the air smelled of fresh grass

and last night's rain.

I was just about to start off

when I looked down and spotted a penny on the sidewalk.

I smiled.

We were off to a good start

already.

I squatted down to pick it up

and turned it over in my palm.

The ruddy copper color was tarnished

and dark,

and was my first color spotting.

As I stood,

I saw that it was minted the year I was born.

I tucked it into my pocket beside the crayon

and began to walk.

Now,

with lots of practices like this,

designed to help us be a bit more present,

there's a chance to take it so far that you drive yourself crazy,

that you try too hard,

and somehow feel you failed, even though you actually can't.

I reminded myself that my job wasn't to find absolutely everything

that was dark brown or a deep clay red.

I didn't really have a job at all.

I was just walking

and letting things be gently highlighted by my attention.

I noticed last year's leaves caught around the post of a fence.

The old maples

faded to paler versions of themselves.

A child on a bike whizzed past me, and I saw their sweater was the same mahogany as my crayon.

A neighbor was spreading mulch in their garden beds,

and each handful was a rich, reddish brown.

In a backyard,

an old potting shed was shingled and sun-baked, stained wood slats,

and on porch steps, terracotta pots

held blooming daffodils and johnny jump-ups.

The rust on an old mailbox caught my eye,

and the ruddy chest of a robin flying past

as i turned down main street and made my way into downtown

i spotted two people

chatting outside the bakery

each with a dog on a leash

one was a puppy much less than a year old her fur

a deep russet red

and the other dog was full grown,

but half her size

His fur many shades of brown

sticking out all over

like he'd been hit with a dose of static electricity.

As they chased around each other,

play bowing and jumping,

their fur blended together

and made

exactly the shade of red-brown I was looking for today.

In the window of the bookshop,

I took a moment to look at each cover on display.

One featured the face of a man with deep brown eyes,

another

a mysterious-looking brick house shrouded in fog.

There was an aged bronze plaque in the alley, marking the oldest building in town

A ring in the window of the jewelry shop,

with a big, tawny brown stone set in it

A flyer for piano lessons,

with a drawing of an upright

made of shiny chestnut chestnut wood.

On my way back home,

as the clouds shifted and the sun warmed my back,

I felt the crayon and the coin in my pocket,

textures and colors,

sun and shadows,

steps and slow breaths.

I was grateful for this soft start

to my day.

Color walk

From the kitchen table

I could see the tree tops moving in the breeze.

It didn't look too strong,

not even a wind,

just a zephyr

that stirred the new buds as they grew.

My mug was nearly empty,

but it still felt warm and comforting in my hands.

I savored the last sips.

My gaze fell onto my plate,

empty,

but for a few crumbs

and a smear of raspberry jam from the English muffin I'd just enjoyed.

I traced my finger along the plate's edge.

It was plain white porcelain,

but rimmed in a deep blue

And it reminded me of the thin stemmed grape hyacinths

that were popping up

in the flower bed

beside my front door.

I smiled into the dregs of my tea

as

an idea occurred to me

a way to spend the rest of the morning

sparked by the blue

of the plate

and the matching flowers

I hadn't gone on one

in an age

but spring was the perfect time

to revisit a favorite pastime.

Yes, today

was made

for a color walk.

The idea was simple.

Choose a color

and then

go for a walk,

noticing all the places that color showed up.

Each instance would become like a mooring post

for a wandering mind.

A color walk could be a solemn, moving meditation,

or

a jolly game of I spy

moment to moment

it could be both

And in the spring

as the world leapt into color

Opportunities to notice

to pay calm attention would abound

I set my plate and cup in the sink

and went to a drawer in my desk

with an idea.

I wanted a way to pick a color for today

without getting caught

in an internal debate

about which would be best.

Sometimes,

even when a decision didn't really matter,

I could slip into a loop of comparing and rethinking.

This walk was meant to be a way to rest that part of myself.

So I needed to do something

like flip a coin

or roll a color die.

From my drawer

I took out a familiar yellow and green box

the big one with the sharpener on the back

that I'd treated myself to

on my last trip to the stationery store.

I closed my eyes

and flipped the top open,

letting my fingers trail over the waxy tips of the crayons.

They'd come organized, of course,

but I was in the habit of pulling them out by the handful as I used them

and sticking them back in

willy-nilly.

So I truly had no idea,

even what family of color I might pull.

My finger stopped on one,

and I slid it from the pack.

I paused to feel

where the wax met the paper,

how it was peeled back a bit

from when I'd sharpened it last.

I wondered if it would be a yellow,

which I would spot in every daffodil, a yield sign,

or a shade of blue,

like the sky today.

But when I finally blinked my eyes open,

I saw

I'd drawn good old burnt sienna.

Huh,

I said aloud.

Didn't see that coming.

This was a color that had helped me draw many tree trunks

and brick house fronts since my first pack of crayons,

big enough to include it in grade school.

It was a utilitarian stronghold of a color.

Not one I'd have picked myself

for a whimsical stroll in the spring,

and that made it perfect for today.

I tucked the crayon

into my pocket,

for some reason wanting to bring it along,

and went to the door to step into my shoes

and take a thin jacket from the hook.

Outside,

I paused to zip up my jacket

and feel the air on my skin.

It was one of those spring days

when the sky is full of puffy clouds,

so minute to minute

you might be dazzled by sunlight

or shrouded in shade,

and with each shift,

you'd likely be pushing back the sleeves of your jacket

or tugging them back down.

Still,

just now,

the sun shone on my face,

and the air smelled of fresh grass

and last night's rain.

I was just about to start off

when I looked down

and spotted a penny on the sidewalk.

I smiled.

We were off to a good start already.

I squatted down to pick it up

and turned it over in my palm.

The ruddy copper color

was tarnished and dark,

and it was my first color spotting.

As I stood,

I saw that it was minted

in the year I was born.

I tucked it into my pocket beside the crayon

and began to walk.

Now, with lots of practices like this

designed to help us be a bit more present.

There's a chance to take it

so far that you drive yourself crazy,

that you try too hard

and somehow feel you've failed,

even though

you actually can't.

I reminded myself

that my job wasn't to find

absolutely everything

that was dark brown or deep clay red.

I didn't really have a job at all.

I was just walking

and letting things be gently highlighted by my attention.

I noticed last year's leaves

caught around the post of a fence.

The old maples

faded to paler versions of themselves.

A child on a bike

whizzed past me,

and I saw their sweater

was the same mahogany as my crayon.

A neighbor was spreading mulch in their garden beds,

and each handful

was a rich

reddish brown.

In a backyard,

an old potting shed

was shingled in sun-baked, stained wood slats,

and on porch steps, terracotta pots

held blooming daffodils and johnny jump-ups.

The rust

on an old mailbox caught my eye,

and the ruddy chest of a robin flying past

As I turned down Main Street

and made my way into downtown,

I spotted two people chatting outside the bakery,

each with a dog on a leash.

One was a puppy,

much less than a year old,

her fur

deep russet red,

and the other dog was full grown,

but half her size,

his fur many shades of brown

and sticking out all over

like he'd been hit with a dose of static electricity

as they chased around each other,

playbowing and jumping,

their fur blended together

and made

exactly the shade of red brown

I was looking for to day.

In the window of the bookshop

I took a moment to look at each cover on display.

One featured the face of a man with deep brown eyes

another

a mysterious looking brick house shrouded in fog.

There was an aged bronze plaque in the alley marking the oldest building in town,

a ring in the window of the jewelry shop

with a big tawny brown stone set in it,

a flyer for piano lessons,

with a drawing of an upright

made of shiny chestnut wood.

On my way back home,

as the clouds shifted

and the sun warmed my back,

I felt the crayon

and the coin in my pocket,

textures and color,

sun

and shadows,

steps

and slow breaths.

I was grateful

for this soft start

to my day.

Sweet dreams.