Bluest Ever

The Indian

Paintbrushes are

jealous of the

Bluebonnets, and

maybe that is why

they riot along the

roadsides and

highways.

Bluebonnets don’t

care. They prefer

to silently parade

across the new sprung grass

during their seasonal spell in

the spring;

and certainly, they do not

compete with paintbrush

strokes of garish neon orange.

Consumed with their blue hats,

ribbons, and curls, they are

after all just little girls

dressed up in their

Sunday-best, truly

believing that

every day is Easter-

go-to-meeting-day

until the end.

On and on they march

over the hills and meadows

until they finally fade

dropping tiny seeds into the

deep green clover. Closing

their sleepy blue eyes as

their petals dry, they

sink into an azure fairyland

for months and months

dreaming up next year’s

bonnet parade.

It will be the bluest

yes, the bluest and the best,

the best-ever — without

a single drop of neon

orange paint.

©Bonnie Saul Wilks

Istanbul, Turkey

May 2, 2017