the Blues

 

Not that kind, although it would be easy enough to assume.

I have a couple of thread commissions to get to. 

Blues and their close cousins. Swinging in blues country, border to border. From the cool sky seen through the treetops to the purple down a morning glory's throat.

Tomorrow, I'll get out all the blues I have and make some test stains on this, that, and some thread, some of that Perle cotton I've never dyed before. 

If all goes well, everything will get rain rinsed. With the skirts of two hurricanes dragging over us, it's going to be a while before we catch another sunny day. Still warm enough to get the job done.

Don't tell the other colors, but blue is my favorite...today.

 It's a lot like garlic. A little can go a long way. 

.

But every so often, I go off the very deep end with it. Freefalling.

How could we not? It's everywhere we look, if we just open our eyes.

 How blue are you?

addendum

The streetlights and the traffic light over the intersection stuttered once and failed when the truck glanced off the power pole at the crest of Main Street at the top of the quarter-mile glide down into town.

Engine dead, headlights blind, inertia carried it forward and gravity gave it wings. 

The sky's blue hour pulled the last purple edge behind it and, with the glare of the streetlights gone, Bea looked up at the sweeping arc of stars aligned in the blackness over her head. 

In the moments after the lights went out, there was a three-count before the fireflies and crickets struck up a round of applause and then fell back to the serious business of finding husbands and wives before dawn.

from "The Monkeytown Murders"