Upper left Rosemary's unidentified Eucaliptus, R. - Crambe maritima, bottom L. - Senecio cineraria & R - Artemisia ludoviciana 'Valerie Finnis' 12 August 2021

Today I have been thinking of the colour gray. To begin with I have problems figuring out if I should write it gray or grey. When I write in a blog that I like Earl Grey Tea I invariably have to look it up. Grey for me reminds me of the terrible, damp and grey days of the Buenos Aires winters of my youth. And now in Vancouver grey is a colour no different from my Buenos Aires grey.

For Rosemary grey was a colour that she looked for in her plants besides the ones that might have blue or white flowers. I never did discuss with her the fact that many of her grey plants have yellow flowers, a colour she disdained with the exception of the yellow of Rosa ‘Mrs. Oakley Fisher’ and last year, a few months before she died the lovely English Rose, Rosa ‘Buttercup’. We both shared a fondness for the little yellow patio rose Rosa ‘Emily Louise’.

I never did tell  her that the last colour that Jorge Luís Borges was able to discern before he went blind was yellow.

Borges wrote sparingly and he described many of his story protagonists as having grey eyes and a grey beard as he does of Doctor Stephen Albert in his The Garden of Bifurcating Paths. In the story one finds out that Albert is an eternal man who lives endless repetitive lives. Some see grey as a vague and indefinite colour.

I believe that Rosemary saw in grey plants a colour that would not clash and would blend in with plants that had bright colours. Or it could have been that my Rosemary saw grey as an elegant colour. She was an elegant woman.

 Who was the Valerie Finnis in the cultivar name of Artemesia ludoviciana? Here is her Wikipedia citation.

This poem by Emily Dickinson is one that Rosemary would find as fun as it is positive (certainly not vague or uncertain) and a happy one.

A slash of Blue by Emily Dickinson

A slash of Blue --

A sweep of Gray --

Some scarlet patches on the way,

Compose an Evening Sky --

A little purple -- slipped between --

Some Ruby Trousers hurried on --

A Wave of Gold --

A Bank of Day --

This just makes out the Morning Sky.

More Emily Dickinson

I cannot dance upon my Toes
a door just opened on the street 
Amber slips away
Sleep