It is the colour of depth. From those who catch the barely burning sun in the shallow waters, jellyfish tentacles drifting like Chinese festival ribbons, fish darting about their trailing lines with a joy for life so rarely found. It is the rolling shells that blush against bleach white sands of the beaches, upon the edges of jungle forests where wild things call.
It is the lilacs and lavenders of exotic plants, creeping from the dark floor up high. Vines twisting about the mighty titan trees, like child eager to see the sky for the first time, clambering ever upwards to stretch their heads to the sun. Petals like curious maiden's eyes drinking in the light that cuts through the canopy, the colour seeping like a warm flush over coy cheeks.
Ever up, to the sunset, so shy on the sea horizon, a haze of tumbled clouds splashed pink and orange and fuchsia in the distance, like spray churned up from the very edge of the world. And onwards still, to where those bands deepen, thicken to give birth to nature's rage. It presses upon the sky like a thumbed bruise, towering nimbus that spits lightning and snarls thunder to the gods, to dare an answer.
Yet higher still, to where nebula tower upwards in the depth of space. Violet gas nurtures the youngest of stars, cradles the foetal novas within it's curling edges, like a lioness protecting her cubs. A brood of suns she keeps close within, the plum centre a womb to soothe, to feed. And deeper still, to the very edges of that young light that jellyfish spines dance beneath, that flowers stare upwards in awe at, that winks and dances above the storm's top, so does ultraviolet bathe us all.