Third Person Singular

It was a day as clear as distilled water. She looked past the snow on the Sierra Gorda, into the blue infinity. She looked back and saw him shade his eyes from the sun. No doubt he was wondering what she was looking at – or for.

‘It’s the first day of forever,’ she said.

‘It’s the last day of the past,’ he offered.

There was not one cloud in the sky, but it was cold enough for the blades of grass to be hard with frost.

‘No wonder blue is the colour of cold, Jenny.’

She smiled and shook her head, ‘It’s not, Conrad.’

‘What is it then?’

The sigh was long: in memory of winters and summers past.

‘What color is this sky in the summertime?’

‘Blue,’ he said.

‘I knew he’d say that,’ maybe she was talking to the sky, or herself.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just that it’s never blue.’

Jenny watched Conrad walk down the track towards the Mistubishi 4x4. She turned to continue up the track, whispering to herself,

‘Cobalt, Azure, Cerulean, Ultramarine, Beryl, Teal, Lazuline…’

She turned back to look at the car Conrad had always called light blue, but didn’t bother to wave.