43ºF—sunny, slight wind
The birds and I agree—the air is tinged too strongly of spring. A rare blue sky opens above Mellon Park, sharpening the bare branches of the hardwoods. A dozen robins skirt and flutter on the grass, puffing dull red breasts, and nuthatches spin and hop upside down on the trunks of the trees. I watch a red-bellied woodpecker cling to a tree's higher limbs. He has a light gray body speckled by black spears, a vibrant red head with sharp black eyes that follow my earthbound wander. The robins chirp; the woodpecker pivots around a branch and flutters to the next tree over.
I settle down on the crest of the hill among soft grass seeping the smell of spring. I know damp mud is pushing through the blades, already blotching brown into my jeans, but at this moment the earth feels more comforting than the softest matress. A soft wind fingers my hair and reminds all of us—the robins, nuthatches, woodpecker, hardwoods, and grass—that it's still February, that it might just snow again in a few days. But the sun drips down warmth, and that blue blue sky above stretches above like a long sigh. On the horizon, it is a grainy, whitish smudge, tinted by pollution, but brightens out of haze to that brilliant blue, sharpest in the north plane of sky opposite the glinting sun.
How do I describe the color of sky? Sky blue falls to redundancy. Not robin egg blue, not azure or cobalt, not royal or ice blue. Just the blue of clear sky, more of an impression than hue or tone. Textured, it would be flat and hard as slate. I would press my palm and fingertips against it and feel no give, no deviation, just bright blue resolve.
I haven't had a moment like this to just sit and think about words to describe the sky. I feel as if I'm lunging to catch up on life, scrambling from one place to the next, sides heaving when I get there, only to leap ahead to the next. I'm caught beneath well-muscled questions with no soothing answers, and in this moment my body loosens to the simplicity of open sky, how shards of smooth sunlight can lift that anxiety away for a moment. I don't want to leave. I don't want to move on with my day cut into buildings away from this airy ceiling which is no ceiling at all. I would like, I think, to settle a little more into the grass and damp earth, then feel myself lifted by that warm sun into the sky's haunt of spring. Trill among the robins, sing my chipped voice with the nuthatches. Drill for good grubs with the red-bellied woodpecker. Not forever, but a moment longer, a sun-stretched hour longer. I'd like to breathe in this wet whisper of spring knowing full well it is not permanent, and for that loving it that much more.
I stand and feel the mud bled into my jeans, smudged against my knees like I'm back in grade school. But I shrug the care away. If anyone asks, I'll tell them: I had to sit and think a long while about the color of the sky.
I love how you spend an entire blog post (300-600 words), talking about the color of the sky. More so, I find it utterly thrilling that you, as a writer and a reader, as one so connected with words, cannot find the words to describe the exact color. And yet, the words you do chose are practically perfect. I felt as though I was sitting with you in the park, experiencing this conundrum with you (and the birds and the trees and the grass).
ReplyDeleteI also find it amusing and completely coincidental that you wrote about the almost-spring that happened earlier in the week, and I wrote about the almost-spring that happened later in the week--both of which were separated by an undeniable presence of winter.
Hi Sarah- I like your beginning, "The birds and I agree.." It draws me into the text to discover what else you are thinking about. And to sit and consider the color blue is such a lovely idea to ponder. The contrast between what is filling your head and your stillness in the location lends an initial tension that gradually resolves. Thank you for sharing this beautiful post!
ReplyDeleteHi Sarah, I also really enjoyed that first line. I like that you are using birds while trying to describe the color and feeling of the sky, since it is their domain. I felt connected to your contemplation on how to describe the color of the sky and I think you did a good job putting into words what many of us feel on days when the sky is clear.
ReplyDeleteThis, like your last entry, so resonantly weaves together vivid, specificity of place with your thoughtful, meditative voice. I'm not only getting a portrait of this place and moment, but I'm considering their meaning. I'm reminded of Ackerman's "Vision" chapter, with this entry's richness of image and detail.
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