The colour of the afternoon

A grey afternoon of imposed quietness. My son has a fever and sleeps and sleeps through the day. I read and look out at the tree branches, the brown grass turning green, the cars and pedestrians. A minivan stops at the corner, a Sikh man descends and strides down the street. Light blue shirt, grey pants and long white beard, turban like a maraschino cherry, bright bright, eye-catching red.

I once asked a Sikh friend about the meaning of the different coloured turbans one can see in the neighbourhood. Sometime I come across groups of men all in sherbert orange turbans, or serious men in black ones to match their beards; mauve, green, blue, yellow, beautiful colours swirling, dancing down the street. What does it all mean, I wanted to know. Some sort of affiliation? A political gesture?

She waved her hand, dismissing my question. "It's fashion," she told me.