The long blue day

The long blue day often visits him. This year seems to have encouraged them again. He loves the colour blue, but the blue of bitter moods is a punch, an ache. It seems so hard to get anything worthwhile done, to start anything beautiful; the focus is scattered, wayward, lazy. Instead, he doodles with a mouse, clicking from one pretty trinket to the next. When he looks out of the window, there is his neighbour standing over their last living azalea, the only one to have survived the drought. It hasn’t rained for a long time, except in his heart.