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.

Violet and blue are the colors of jazz; the tones of singing saxophones, and smooth night-time joys of Miles, Coltrane and the gang.

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.

I love the different names of blue.

Two of the most popular shades, royal and navy, derive from human institutions.

But midnight, cornflower, blueberry, ocean, sky, and periwinkle come from nature.

We are surrounded by blue.

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.

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.

Far out in the ocean the water is as blue as the petals of the loveliest cornflower, and as clear as the purest glass. But it is very deep too.


(The Little Mermaid, Hans Christian Andersen)

And the colour of fire is yellow. Yellow and white and sparks flying.

Drawn as angry red and orange and yellow flames consuming a house in a child's drawing.

But you can see blue in fire if you look.

Blue fire. Blue flame. Blue heat. Blue desire.

The blue steals up your spine and shivers into your brain. Even if you are standing ten feet apart. Even if you are on another continent.

Blue is a hot colour.

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.

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.