
"In addition to the browns and the greys, there was plenty of bright. Russet-orange, violet-blue, red-wine-maroon, pink-moss-green. And as I'd seen with that herringbone, even many of the greys and browns were the colours of various clouds and various skies and various winter fields, sometimes with that elusive stirrup of blue. As I scribbled down my observations of the yarns in the cloth, I began to see what was happening. Nothing had quite its own colour; it was always something else as well. It's an exercise in harmony, and it also means that even in a conservative jacket in a colour like a brown or a blue, there can be something astonishing built up inside the wool: in the body of those formal colours there can be candy pink, heather purple, sun yellow.
[...] The colours of Harris Tweed are mixtures, subtle and tremulous. They are never exactly themselves. And they are never quite even. They play with your eyes, tease them, gentle them, like one of those magic eye games where you have to focus somewhere else to see the story."
Victoria Finlay, Fabric: The Hidden History of the Material World
For more Harris Tweed see this post, this one, and this.