Winter shadows, like a ladder, piano keys, train tracks into the blue. How snow shadows look blue, unlike shadows during other seasons. Blue with cold, singing the blues, blue of winter.
Long ago during a blue January, she rode with her brother through the countryside. The sky, blue, sunshine glistening off the snow and icicles suspended from the edges of every roof. She took a photo of a plowed field, the blue-white curves, curling back and around. The form, the shape, the way it turned back on itself, like they would when they finally returned home. Father was already gone; moved to another planet--this one, of mountains. He’d left behind the farm and the plowed fields; the soil that had turned and curved into despair and hatred after so many years. And left them all suspended, like icicles melting in the sun.
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There is no blue without yellow and without orange -- Vincent Van Gogh
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In honor of Martin Luther King, Jr., check out "Black Gandhi" (and more) by Heidi Martin at: www.myspace.com/heidimartinmusic