Blue

It’s close to the holiday time. Everyone is festive, joyful. 

The street is lit up with lights; blue, greens, reds, whites all dot the streets, winking and flashing as I walk by. Icicles made of light glint from the rooftops of some houses and inflatable snowmen smile cheerfully. 

The ground is dusted in a fluffy white powder; frost forms on the grass. It turns to dew in the afternoon when the sun’s golden glow warms the ground. In the morning, forgetful neighbors have their sprinklers running; the mist shimmering lightly as it patters to the ground. In the clearer, darker mornings, the sprinkler drops turn into ice; ice cold teardrops shimmering between blades of wilting grass. 

The sidewalk is also frosted with ice; white creeping in at the edges of the pavement. A simple walk takes lots of preparation; long shirts with sweatshirts and sweaters and puffer jackets. The puffy red jacket rotting in the back of my closet with a fluffy inside was created specifically for this type of weather. My sweater- knitted myself with chunky yarn- has been worn so many times that the knitting is starting to fray. Someday, I’ll sit down in my armchair with the fireplace warming my face and knit a new one. 

My hands are turning blue due to the cold. Stay out any longer, and they’ll start to turn to a violent shade of purple. My cheeks, however, are dusted with a red blush. I turn around and start walking back to my house.

I pass by the houses I’ve glimpsed as I walk by, my blue sneakers crunching quietly on the iced sidewalk. A dog barks as I walk by, the constant noise disrupting the still silence settling quietly over the chimneys and treetops. 

The sun peeks over the top of a rooftop; the yellow strands of light flow through the dark blue morning sky. The sky gently turns the vibrant colors of yellow, pink, and red. The blue slowly creeps away, but lingers in the back of the sky.

I return my attention to the houses in front of me. The warm yellow lights turn a cool blue in this morning lighting. My throat starts burning in thirst; I had woken up in the morning without taking a sip of any water. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t my neighborhood. 

I hurry back, crossing the street into my neighborhood. I typically took walks in the other neighborhood to see the bright blue sky smiling at me, the lights winking and flashing, and hearing the beagle bark good morning. 

A pale blue house lines the entrance to my neighborhood. The light shade resembles the sky, if I could only see it from here. The woods are so close, the tree branches extending dark stick claws, snatching the sky away and replacing it with darkness. 

I walk past that sudden shade of blue; the next house is mine. It’s a humble building, wilting plants lining the steps that lead to the blue door. It’s such a vibrant blue that I vehemently wish to paint it over. 

The burgundy of the potted plant, dying, on the step makes me feel something like sadness. Something I can’t quite place. This neighborhood is in shambles; the one directly across puts me to shame. I look up; the blue sky is obscured by the tree branches; one dying leaf falls into my palm. The brown of the leaf contrasts my skin. 

Defeatedly, I unlock the blue door and enter inside. The fireside is bare, cold; moldy wood rots away in the fireplace. Stacks of dishes are piled in the dishwasher; I was too tired to put them away yesterday. Sitting down in a wooden chair, the dark room is lightened only by the one glimmer of light shining from the window. The light looks blue, almost a light cerulean. This house looks unlived, dead.

I could’ve cried right there. I didn’t. Heavily, I trudge to the bedroom. I can almost place the emotion I’m feeling; a cross of somber with a heavy pour of melancholy and light sprinkle of hopelessness. 

Disconsolate. Inconsolable. 

The blue light winks at me as I fall onto the pale bedsheets.