Red is rich and warm.

Red is the smell of Gettings Gardens strawberries in June, ripe for picking.  

Red is the sight of a brilliant sunset and peaceful lazing at the seashore after dusk.              

Red is the taste of cinnamon lollipops and ice cold water on a hot summer day.  

Red is the sound of clanging cymbals and beating drums of the children’s music class.

Red is the touch of fire, my finger passing through the flame quickly, safely.

The age of red is ancient, bubbling up from prehistoric lava beds.   

Red moves like a spinning, fiery whirlwind on the desert.

Red is rich and warm.