Inspired by conversations over IM, I’m suddenly lost in a sea of remembered sounds: the ocean at night, with it’s calming rhythm, the chirping of crickets, the screetching of stray cats out on the prowl, the rustling of wind through the trees.

The last isn’t remembered, though, but wafting in through my bedroom window, and combined with the soft chirruping of birds at roost (and something that sounds distinctly mammalian – could we have bats? Is it a possum? – the musical tinkling of the wind chimes I bought at the Botanic Gardens on Sunday.

I’ve been paying more attention to sounds and colors and flavors this week, as I’ve attempted to figure out why I’m suddenly drawn to pink, a color I’ve long-hated. Am I influenced by the fact that this color is evident in every storefront, or am I incorporating happy childhood memories of being a five-year-old ballerina in pink tights and pink ballet slippers, learning how to do awkward swan curtseys? This attraction has influenced every aspect of my life, from bath bubbles to workout wear, from wrist watches to pink drinks – and not merely the cosmopolitans and cape codders I’ve always loved, either – raspberry nonfat mochas have replaced caramel macchiatos as my caffeinated beverage of choice, most days.

And then there are the flavors. Today I indulged myself by cooking a mess of deep green spinach, and stirring it into a garlicky, cream-cheesy omelette. And it was good. I love spinach – as vegetables go it’s dark and earthy, and so versatile – steamed, it’s a side dish, rinsed, it’s a salad – cover pastry crust with it, add slices of roma tomatoes, and fresh onion, sprinkle grated gruyere over the whole thing, and bake for a few minutes, and you’ve got an elegant lunch pizza that partners well with a glass of chilled white wine and a bunch of grapes.

I love lunches like that, and had I been thinking, I’d have taken mine outside, because today was balmy and beautiful, despite the hint of crispness below the sunny warmth. If a day could have a flavor, today tasted of limes and salt, tequila and triple sec, drunk while sitting on a breezy outdoor patio, and while wearing a white cotton sweater.

But I didn’t think about it, and got caught up in work and fighting with lenders, instead of going out to enjoy the day.

Colors, flavors, sounds.
Do they still exist if you don’t venture out to enjoy them?