The knowdgle of color lies in the cell of its owner. Puple bloosom bloom knows that it is puple. humming bird red is in the eye of the bird feeding on the wing. Green turning golden yellow these dressing of the trees knows what it is doing in its secret knowdgle of time. All color is divine with its rhyme of timely blooming in sink with the season of feeding. Do clouds know that they are filled with white and grey in their watery float above the land bound and free flying eye on the wing? Such thing are for the poet to tell, they alone seem to care. Color has it own time of knowing the when and why of it present