The only thing in nature, in the Grand River watershed, where we reside, that has that particular colour is a robin’s egg. Our human eyes don’t know that colour well. They don’t have to know much in that end of the colour spectrum. Our human eyes are trained, to see green, and to know green, all shades of green, innately. It is where stone-age survival mostly happened, and that power still pulses in us, as instinct, the power to see and discern, greens. Not baby blue. In Spring though, after the fluffy awkward robin chicks have fledged, you might have been lucky to spy two blue empty halves of an egg on the emerald grass under a tree.

Look up: there's the nest!

But now, in the Spring of 2021, our eyes spy that shade of robin’s eye blue everywhere: wedged into chain-link fencing, half-buried in pea gravel in a recently re-opened playground, in every ditch, on every sidewalk, rolling like a puny sad kite across Super Store parking lots. Drowned in puddles and rivers, still bright and cheery blue, floating face up or face down. A robin’s eye blue accordion bulging out over the chin and nose of the humans who are walking along that chain link, playing in said pea-gravel, emerging from said Super Store, ripping it off and tossingit out the window, into the ditch, muddied underfoot, eventually washing into the Eramosa river, into the veins of the watershed. 

Boxes of 50

9.99$ at Staples

Soft earstraps

Cellulose inner facing

Class 1 Flame spread