Rainbow Wreckage of Dinner

Last night was delicious again, and bright. Looking down at the table as they began to clear things away, the colors called:

Glistening milky orange chunks of mango.
Clear, bright orange of Crush in a forgotten glass.
Vibrant yellow lemon halves, squeezed and resting in a pale blue dish.
Another dish with a bite left of m'hammara—which literally means "reddened"—a bright red paste of tomatoes, nuts, onions, peppers topped with brown bits of walnut.
The two remaining sardines, a lightly fried brown, and one last brown-yellow of home-fried potato on a white plate near a puddle of ketchup red.
A dark brown platter with remains of salad shades of green and the pale red of a mountain tomato.
A brimming bowl of orange and purple spheres, apricots and plums.
And a small crystal glass showing pink liquid yet for me to drink, rose wine made from grapes grown less than a couple hour's drive from here, in the Beka'a Valley.