White And Blue Quotes

“Waiting

I am waiting for the special day,
when you will say "i will stay",

I am waiting for the night,
when you will be there and everything's right,

I am waiting for that magical rain,
that will wash away the distance, sepration and pain,

I am waiting for a change,
when everything will get arranged,

I am waiting for a meeting,
when i can see you, and my heart can start beating,

I am waiting for a fight,
after which i can hold you in my arms tight,

I am waiting for a blue moon,
when we can meet and i hope it will come soon,

I am waiting for the special day,
when you will say "i will stay",”
― Ratish Edwards

“I come around the curve of a hardwood hammock to witness two herons, a great white and a great blue, having what looks like a territorial dispute. I slow the canoe. Another white heron stands in the shallows a short way off, either fishing or waiting to see who'll win. The white and the blue keep flying up, each trying to warn the other off, angling their wings so the light catches them first one way and then another.
I sketch them fast, trying to record the unintended grace of their motion as well as the force of their intention. While they're concerned with power and territory and fishing rights, they have no idea how stunning the exchange makes them look. The blue heron, in particular, shows me the richness of her color from every angle.”
― Virginia Hartman, The Marsh Queen

“Right before me, on a canvas of cloudy gray sky, twin flowers sway on the very edge of a precipice that pokes out like an arrowhead. I whimper in relief. The deep blue stems of two Odyssa flowers twist around each other, softening out to a pastel blue that gives way to blooming heads of white petals. Unlike the showy, pointed petals of the Feiyan, both Odyssa are soft and round, balls of inward curls that protect a gleaming cerulean center— exactly like Card's eyes, sharply aware and persistent. Resilient. As I must be to collect them and get off this godforsaken mountain.”
― Becky Jenkinson, Wildflower

“I grasp the bottom of the Odyssa stems. And they smile. For a brief moment, I get the barest waft of warmth, the faintest memory of a deep navy sky and deathly silence as the sun sleeps under the horizon. Just as I read in the book the queen gave me, this flower lives in the seam between day and night like the stitches separating light and dark. It’s volatile and elusive, hiding out here in the mountains, in the quiet, in the snow, not bright like the sun, or beautiful like the moon, but a vivid, fleeting moment in between.”
― Becky Jenkinson, Wildflower