The other day as I was driving around town I was struck by the neon-yellow of the Cottonwood trees against the marble-blue vividness of the autumn sky. Though the colors are a yearly occurrence, it’s as if the juxtapositions are a new experience every time. And the stunning contrasts never fail to take my breath away.

Lately, Cash, Olive, and I have been fully captivated by the brilliant, whimsical world of The Phantom Tollbooth. The pages teem with pearls. So much so, that as we read I’ve needed to stop along the way to tag a beautiful, or provoking, or just super clever line or paragraph. We’ve proceeded to read with a pad of sticky memos and now it’s not just me who is pausing along the way to mark something, but Cash and Olive as well.

“Speak Fitly or Be Silent Wisely.”

“I never knew words could be so confusing,” said Milo.
“Only when you use a lot to say a little,” answered Tock.

“Being lost is not a matter of not knowing where you are; it’s a matter of not knowing where you aren’t.”

And then Milo, Tock, and the Humbug experience The Colorful Symphony. A grand orchestra with at least a thousand musicians fanned out before them. Violins, cellos, piccolo, flutes, clarinets, horns, trumpets, percussionists, bass fiddles, and much more – all played. But…
“I don’t hear any music,” said Milo
“That’s right,” said Alec; “you don’t listen to this concert—you watch it.”

And so with Chroma, their conductor, guiding them by molding “the air like handfuls of soft clay”, the musicians “played” the sunset. As the last colors faded, one by one the instruments stopped – …”until only the bass fiddles, in their somber slow movement, were left to play the night and a single set of silver bells brightened the constellations.” Milo then learned that the symphony performed without stopping and had since the beginning of time. And without them the world would look like “an enormous coloring book that hadn’t been used.”

As the last colors faded, one by one the instruments stopped – …”until only the bass fiddles, in their somber slow movement, were left to play the night and a single set of silver bells brightened the constellations.”

“What a pleasure to lead  my violins in a serenade of spring green or hear my trumpets blare out the blue sea and then watch the oboes tint it all in warm yellow sunshine.”

Yes. That.

I wonder about the November neon-yellow Cottonwood trees. And the deepest sky-blue sky ever. How would Chroma conduct those? What section of his orchestra would perform them into existence? What about the rich, earthy hues of the high desert? Or the amber color of my kids’ eyes? The perfect white puffiness of the clouds? The act of music composing these things into dimension makes beautiful sense.

Mr. Juster has gifted us with a complex, multi-sensory, gorgeously rich perspective of the world around us. I can’t wait to watch as The Colorful Symphony plays the first dusting of snow; and bare, ice-tipped branches. The riot of pinks of the spring blossoms and purples of the lilacs. The bold, bright happy summer skies. What about shocking gray lightning storms? Or the radiating beams of a full moon? All beautiful, beautiful music.

I am not musical. But Olive and Cash are. As their skills grow, I am pretty sure they will become proud members of The Colorful Symphony. Perhaps even conducting their own scenes into exquisite detail – sunrises painted on the horizon by way of strings, woodwinds, brass, keyboards – and knowing Cash – a ton of percussion.