Driving home from work, I sometimes take a country road through rolling hills. The trip takes a few minutes longer than my usual route, but the scenery is worth the time. On the way, I pass a barn which was recently painted a light blue--an odd color for a barn, but it seems to work. In the fading light at the end of the day, that blue seems to shine as if lit by an otherworldly light, and the color is pure periwinkle.

It's a magical color, a pale violet-blue of a mysterious quality that neither violet nor blue possess. The word itself, periwinkle, has a sort of nursery rhyme sound to it, as if the word originated in fairyland.

I've always loved that word, periwinkle. I think I first discovered it on a Crayola crayon. The periwinkle crayon itself didn't color all that well, I seem to remember, it came out a bit splotchy. But, ah, the name was heavenly. The Crayola box was the source of wonderful color words--burnt sienna, raw umber, bittersweet, and maize. Pink wasn't pink; it was carnation. A purply pink was orchid. Thistle--I can't even remember what color that was, only that I loved the name.

The point is, those old crayon boxes left me with a love of color and words. I became an art teacher when I grew up. Then I became a writer. Blame it on Crayolas.

I still love the word periwinkle.

Tell us which words you love.