I love color. Rich, saturated chroma draws me in. While I admire many colors, I am partial to purple. My bedroom walls glow a deep purple, I collect amethyst glass, and incorporate different patterns of fabric with purple on my pillows and upholstered furniture.
Despite my admitted attraction to purple, it was only by coincidence that I ended up living in a town served by the CTA’s Purple Line, so named because purple is Northwestern University‘s official color. I enjoy the purple highlights of Northwestern pride around Evanston–the lights in the fountain on Davis Street, the purple fire hydrants, and the liberal sprinkling of purple flowers that pop up from the grounds to signal winter’s end.
A mile and a half south of campus there is a patch of land lovingly tended by an urban gardener. Bordered by an apartment building and the sidewalk, it looks wild and untamed. It is lush and deep, the antithesis of a manicured lawn. I walk by it nearly every day and admire its density and array of plant life. Today all the various shades of purple on this small plot glowed in harmony. The effect was stunning and complex, ranging from soft shades of violet to a Cabernet color that was nearly black. It was breathtaking and artistic, a gem among the ordinary goings on of commuters, school children, dogs and dog walkers, my own private purple showcase.
Everything Evanston 