Every morning the sun pours a cascade of orange light over the horizon. As the curtain of darkness is swept away, birds, trees, people and landscapes reveal their colours in the warm light. In Anatolia, land of light, all the joy of life bursts forth in colour. On the shores of Beyşehir Lake, kingfishers perch on the wooden fences preening their gleaming blue wings. Far to the east, on one of the hills overlooking Hakkari, rainbow coloured bee-eaters hungrily wait for the bees to emerge from their hives. As the sun rises higher in the sky, the women of Azdavay wrap sashes around their colourful clothes and set out for the market. Girls in the villages of Tokat prepare for a wedding, carefully inspecting their clothes of seven colours for any seams or tears that need stitching. History knows better than we how the people of Anatolia have woven the flowers that carpet the meadows in spring into first their hearts and then their clothes.

Following rain a rainbow enhances the festive scene. At Antakya or Olympos it is no surprise to see two rainbows side by side. While the rain pours down on the thirsty soil of the Mediterranean shore, in Nazilli camels adorned with colourful tassels and beads foam at the mouth as they await their turn in the camel wrestling tournament. Meanwhile, in Karapınar in Konya province, the carpet weavers are already seated at their looms creating rainbows from the many-hued strands of wool. In autumn the seven lakes at Yedigöller are bedecked in seven colours as the leaves change from green to yellow, orange, red, scarlet and crimson, mingling with the blue water in a reflected pattern. Similar images can be seen throughout Turkey's forests from the Kaçkar to the Kure mountains.

When winter buries the ground beneath white snow, the young girls of Ardahan gather around the stove to sew rag dolls known as damal in traditional costumes. In Kastamonu, Göreme and Safranbolu similar dolls worked on winter nights are admired in the bright light of the following morning. When the religious bayrams or feast days fall in winter, children dressed in colourful new clothes leave their footprints in the snow as they go from house to house visiting the neighbours. If they fall in spring, the ceremonial visits being over, they climb the nearest hill to fly their colourful kites. In Edirne the old-fashioned carts are painted in bright colours with pictures of partridges, poppies and mosques. On the island of Gökçeada the donkeys' saddles are covered by a patchwork cloth known as kurela, an old Greek custom.

At annual festivals held on the high pastures in the mountains above Trabzon, the cows' horns are adorned with coloured beads and tassels, and in Soma the brightly painted ceilings of the mosques glow in memory of the artists of past centuries. In summer, the carpet sellers of Kekova hang their wares outside their shops early in the morning, against the background of the turquoise Mediterranean. In Cappadocia, before the moon has faded from the sky, a brightly coloured balloon ascends, awakening the pigeons. In the old walled quarter of Amasra, Zülfiye Hanım waters her colourful flowers, which grow in pots made of old boots with colourful socks stretched over them, old shoes, leaking kettles, and anything else that her imagination can put to good use!
While all this is going on, I sit down in a village coffeehouse, and as I sip my tea take from my pocket a piece of paper.

On it is a poem by Ferit Edgü describing the colours of the human heart mingled with those of the world: 'Please take my photograph pleaded a small child in the marketplace. / Make it a really impressive one. / I took it. / Take my photograph too, said an old man, / With the mosque behind me. / I took one . / A tired packhorse did not asked me to take its photograph. / But I did. / Women were chatting together in the meadow. / When they saw me they began to laugh. / When they saw me take a photograph they called out,/ Don't forget to send us a copy. /I sent it. / A fisherman coming into harbour called out, / No fish today, but at least take my photograph. / I took it./ A wrestler said, what is the point of photographing me in ordinary clothes? / Wait until I am on the wrestling field. / I took one photo but left the rest for others. / Auntie, he is taking your photograph, shouted a child. / The woman turned to me and said, Son, what is the point of taking my photograph? / Take that great plane tree, she said, pointing./ I took it. /

CBoth the old woman and the great plane tree. / Her eyes gazing into the far distance. / The fallen leaves of the tree. / Later I was photographing a woman in the market selling herbs and flowers that she had gathered from the mountains, meadows and woods. / When she noticed me she picked up a bunch of wild flowers and posed for me, saying, / Take it, my dear, but let it be in colour, because my world is very colourful.'

* Akgün Akova is the author of several books of poetry and essays