It was all she could think about. The blue was even more vibrant than she remembered, like the ocean on a bright summer day. She was reminded of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, her grandfather’s favourite poem. He used to recite it to her, his voice tempered with the characters and emotion and the last verse always welled tears in his eyes. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn. He wasn’t an overly emotional man, no more than … Continue reading 642 – 7: What a character holding a blue object is thinking right now.