There is More Blue

There is more blue in the sky, and more oxygen in my lungs--since I chose to step back, claim more space. My navel is calling me to be reacquainted with all its whorls and textures. I will be at the harbor if you want to talk through smoke signals. Not classical smoke and mirrors. Real live white sage smoke from Oregon and tiny mirrors sewn into my orange and red caftan from the Himalayas. Gazing at the baby blue waters I call home, I slide my toes into the icy cold refreshment. Tide, dead-low, I could walk across the narrowest part of the harbor to the sandy beach where the house of my dreams sits. I would knock-on a perfect stranger's robin's egg blue door, and see if the home owner was available for a tall class of Iced tea and conversation on the porch. We may talk about what I see from the south looking north; you'd share how sunrise is better from your vantage point. That my sunsets must be more dynamic- as if the sun plunges into the warm blue green harbor waters. You see a sunset dropping into the evergreens, and pitched roofs of Victorians that I stroll by on walks, when it's cool. Still, the sky holds mystery-- easily digested on a summer afternoon, cloudless.