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The only blue off my back porch lives above the tree line. A sun-washed robin’s egg hue appearing darker through my polarized sunglasses.
The wildflowers expired six or so weeks ago and thanks to no rain and triple-digit-days 99.9% of the flowering weeds also mailed it in. “It’s the brown season,” as my wife likes to say.
Dad was 1/2 Mexican Indian and 1/2 Anglo landowner. The Mexican Indian won out cosmetically. Brown he was.
The color screams “Look at me.” Power. Authority. In control. Or wannabe.
Do you understand?
It’s a simple question. Sometimes asked by a teacher seeking confirmation knowledge transferred well. Other times asked by a relation seeking confirmation their opinion was grasped.