In her journals, Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote about her grief in losing her first born child —the famous Lindbergh baby kidnapping. She spoke of focusing on high-reaching objects (I don’t remember specifically what) but I picture trees or mountains.
And in fact, I’ve done a lot of looking up this past year, but recently I realized it’s not so much the tall elms in the park as it is the sky beyond. That bluest of blue at the highest point of the sky, and it seems to take on an even greater intensity when contrasted with tree limbs.
Wayne had blue eyes. There was a time, back before we were a couple, when we were walking in a group. And he looked at me. I don’t know how to describe it, but there was a flash of blue, somewhere between us. I started collecting blues and eventually wrote a poem.
I love blue.
Once I saw a sky so blue
it was new to me.
I love blue.
Once in the Rio de los Frijoles
blue sparkled,
uncatchable blue.
Once your eyes flashed blue at me.
Long before you saw me,
I saw you.
Kate Harrington 