In the time of orange, children sported with place. The cool integers, the fighting pronouns, stood for change. Change came coloured. A tree born of new times let loose a leaf of lettered green. Blue union excused a city, a red union blew smoke. Tied in the tracks of varying colours, the children seemed to settle. Warring parties explained differences, inventing new ones in logic cycles. Some children were just hungry and it wasn’t a story.
Later, fully lettered in outside words, the nation sensed the city soul, pitied nothing and moved on. That colour was read by many.