Blueland

I came to blueland. Blueland was, as the name says, a blue land.

The People didn't look too happy. Which I didn't mind, as they didn't look careless either.

There was some sort of sadness about them. It suited them well. And still the children played in the streets.

The kids had bicyles. Those were blue, of course, just as their skinny jeans. They seemed very busy playing and didn't pay any attention to me.

I saw a woman on her way to the grocery store. She didn't smile. She looked quite serious. The collar of her dark blue coat was up - as if to protect her. From what?

A man was washing his car, a blue car, in front of his house. I wondered, if he was the father of those busy children. Somehow I always think of car washing fathers when I see children with bicyles in the streets.

Next door, a woman was cutting roses. She was kind of late doing so, as spring was knocking on the door. Have you seen deep blue roses before?

Blueland was a quiet place. Maybe that man never drove the car he washed. There was no sound of traffic. I think of blueland, looking out the window, looking at the freeway in front of it.