Blue

Blue

            No wind today. Not a breath of air. Nothing yesterday. No wind. No rain. Not a cloud in the sky. Blue as far as you can see. If you like blue. I guess it’s beautiful. She made me paint the house blue, sky blue, so you think of the sun and the moon, all things cosmic, she said, when you look at our house.

            Our house. 

            Our house was always her house and everything in it that was beautiful that was orderly, in its proper place, that was blue.

            Still is. Orderly. Proper. And, I suppose, beautiful. Certinly blue.

            Did you know there were so many blues? she said once, clapping her hands in delight.

            Can’t say I’ve thought about it, I said.

            Made her laugh. Oh, you love blue as much as I do, she’d said and smiled. Happy. It took so little to make her happy. Just a color.

            You only have to look up, she said, and there it is. Blue, blue, blue . . . like today.

            The sky so blue. Not a cloud. Just that smooth, clear blue. Nothing moving. Not a breath of air. Which is why I can hardly breathe. Must be the reason—all this blue—such a blue sky today. My happy blue, she would say if she were here and mean it. But I, I look at that sky and can’t breathe. Can’t catch my breath. It’s so blue, I can’t breathe.

© 2013 Kathleen Coskran