Yellow wins because green has other work to do.
Tonight, this is what is around the place where I live. Two minutes’ walk brings me to the edge of town. The road is cold. The council have soothed it with something, so it’s smooth, like clay. That’s ok.
The paddocks have been sown; they are green and exact. This is what green is doing; next year’s work.
The hills are sharp and cold; the ridges iced with rock and trees poked in the top, sharp as glass. The windmill is doing absolutely nothing. The hill in front of me balances a bowl of light in its throat. This is the sun setting. The clouds are streaked and stained with tired gold.
Our grapevine holds its yellow, but it’ll subside soon.