If only words could be as color is...

My eye slakes -- the melancholy rainbows of fading, brightness a-blitz against the grime, a thousand iterations coaxing white to green, as if the universe of color was calipered between the two shirts hanging from this balcony.

At other times, color takes the form of parable...

Or a caco-symphony... (undoctored iPhone snaps from the top of the Mingala market)

Here a kun: ya (paan) stand -- to test the amplitude of your rods and cones...

A kun:-ya stand for betel-chewers (similar to paan in India)

The white urn contains the lime they slake on each leaf prior to putting in the betel, tobacco, and all else

I love it, though you do have to discharge giant gobs of brick-colored sputum as you chew...

Or here, where incense has its distinctive redolence -- only this time visually...

And have I mentioned the food? The genius of the hin (curry): my beloved Chi Mya's stand...

Chi Mya's stand (I got his name wrong in the earlier post; that was his daughter!)

Almost a Burmese spaghetti, of all things...

And, of course, the brooms...