I don’t want to live entirely in white. Give me aquamarine waves breaking against a white beach. Release a pure white horse into a green pasture and watch the horse gallop away so smoothly it seems made entirely of liquid. Allow me a broad valley filled with white snow and occasional stands of green pines. Give me snowy white hills gradually assembling themselves into distant blue mountains.
White is contradictory.
Here, we begin with white. Born into soft white blankets. Married in white gowns and white dress collars under white arbors filled with red roses. In the East, beginnings are red. Red dresses for weddings. Red for prosperity. White is reserved for mourning. White for the family of the deceased.
Presented with an option, I prefer a white bird over a black one.