Is the color of my beloved's eyes, of Mary's mantle, of hydrangeas, lupines, and morning glories, of the first time I was allowed to paint my own room, of the dress I danced in at the wedding of our daughter.
Blue is heaven and seas and swimming pools, but not ponds and lakes in general. Blue is striped beach bags and towels and Julia's little bedroom and the center hall that is periwinkle and not purple regardless of what they say.
Blue is the inlaid turquoise bracelet I bought for myself in high school and still wear; blue is the tiny tracery of veins under the translucent skin of my newborns' heads and the veins that appear in my breasts when I nurse them.
Blue is mattress ticking and sky and the metal spoon I use to scoop out the foam in my cappuccino each morning. Blue is the dishes we ate from in childhood and the sketching pencils and ceramic carpet balls and my grandmother's transferware teapot with the broken lid that I glued back together and use for tea on snowy afternoons midwinter.
Blue is serene and calm and baptismal fonts and the giant ceramic bowl my sisters gave us for our tenth wedding anniversary and my broken heart when my father died weeks before then.
Blue is the baby bunting covered in rubber duckies that Jessica wore as an infant after her bath.
Blue is the ceiling of every porch I have owned and the color of the side-by-side that made everyone gasp when they saw I painted over the quarter sawn oak.
Blue is turquoise and cerulean, royal and navy, French and cobalt and indigo and azure and lapis lazuli.
Blue washes into green and makes teal and bleeds from new jeans and is an eyeshadow that no one under 65 wears anymore.
Blue is the impossible color of the water in Montego Bay when it was so hot I am dizzy and float face down in a delirium of not knowing which was is up or which way down.
Blue is both sky and ocean, the bowl we swim in, the air we breathe and fly into; bluebells and blue jays and blue bonnets and bluebirds themselves.
Blue is the color I dive into and swim down down down until there is nothing to hear but the roar of my own blood in my ears and the vacuum of nothing but space and time and a raft floating across the water on a July afternoon after 4:00.
And such is blue to me.