Perfumed Blue

In the blue. My reflection. Without stillness. Hard edges blurred. Moving in the light. The light so brilliant bright. With back stretched and toes tipped I reach to touch the blue. Ripples soft sequence concentric patterns from the center of my disturbance.

I dare immersion. All of me. Drenching. Weightless and floating. Wind tides lifting and ebbing. I breathe easily in the deep. Clearing breaths. Cleansing. I am without need to be dry again. What have I done these past months without the blue? I cannot recall.

A mason bee believes I am a flower. So small on my soaked skin. I wish I could see myself as he sees me. New. Open. Beautiful. But he is a drunken fool. And I am disguised with perfume. The blue exploding. Thousands of blossoms. Cherry cloud white. Tulip Magnolia baby skin pink. And this young working lad finds me mere extension of Eastern Redbud beside.

The intoxication is also my own. I drift far from a familiar shore. My broad strokes continue without fatigue. Let me succumb to the blue and the color and the notion that there is a chance for better days. What have I done these past years without the blue? I cannot recall.

A Great Heron lets me ride on his back. The air from his wings cooling. He understands the blue and shows me around this not so vast place we both call home. The treetops like lollipops of every flavor. We sail together in the blue until the creature senses it is my time to go back.

I stroke the soft of his neck to acknowledge what is already known between us.  

1. Cover photo by Author,

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