Blue

Blue. It's cold, full of sadness and icicles. It's comfortable and common, country and urban, a warm sunny day and a chilly autumn evening. Blue is the oceans and the rivers, one-third of America's patriotism, peacocks and bluebirds, suede shoes and a cartoon dog. It calms and soothes the spirit while evoking a sense of professionalism. If love is the universal language, Blue is the universal color.

Maybe you know the story already, if not.....
When the world was created all the colors chose where they would live. Blue chose the sky, Red chose the desert and roses, and on and on. Green, however, picked the plants and the leaves and the bushes and on and on... Yellow was stuck. He didn't know what to do. Panicked, he went to Blue for advice.
»Hmmm.«, Blue replied. »I«ll take care of this."
Blue confronted Green and told him, »Listen you, Yellow has hardly anything, so you're gonna stop while you're ahead... you got it?? If not, Yellow and I are gonna make our own green..Do you understand?«
So green stopped and yellow was awarded...with the sun.

In the Spring, we drive up to Brenham or over to San Antonio or even to Waco. The destination doesn't really matter. The reason for our journey may be found on either side of the highway.

Bluebonnets. Masses and masses of bluebonnets.

Here and there we see the red spikes of the Indian paintbrushes and the yellow of the ubiquitous flowers. They add to the joy of the day.

Thank you, Lady Bird.

forgiving the sky for being so very very blue...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jevalenazdeth

Blue's a nice color, don't get me wrong. I like blue, but blue and green, oh yeah! When I see colors like teal, aquamarine and verdigris, I just get a hormone surge.

Blue is a feeling, but the blues is the cultural expression of a feeling rooted in African American experience.

Blue and Grey.

Colours which lie close and comfortable to each other in shades.

Blue shirts and grey suits.

Grey suits and blue ties.

But oh!

What a bloody difference between the two once!

There is no civility in red death.

Today the blue letters run along my inner arm, from just above the bend of my elbow to my wrist. Sometimes the message is longer; sometimes it is shorter.

Yes, the words change each day, and often the shade of blue as well. Sometimes a pen, sometimes a brush, sometimes a finger dipped in body paint draw the lines and curves that form the letters. But a tattoo would never do. It couldn't evolve with the quicksilver of his mind and his imagination.

^116

When I think of blue, the blue-steel gleam of a gun barrel comes immediately to mind.

Occupational hazard, I guess.

Red and all its shades go with blood on the victim and evidence. Once yellow was the live oak pollen on a suspect's shoes.

I don't think I've ever used the colors of magenta or fuschia or puce or periwinkle or verdigris in any of my stories.

Verdigris. Hm. Maybe I should expand my palette.

When I was a little girl, my mother always dressed me in blue. She said it brought out the blue in my eyes. I wore dresses all the time and my hair was pulled back into two ponytails.

When I was a young woman, I wore browns and greens and blacks. On the farm, I wore jeans. I bought pantsuits in the city and wore them to college classes and to teaching. My hair took no fussing except for keeping it trimmed above my collar.

But now that I am old, I find blue creeping back into my wardrobe once again. I've rediscovered the joy of skirts. My hair, though streaked with gray and silver, reaches to the middle of my back.

Cycles of life and appearance.