It is the color of late Sundays, storm clouds quivering on the horizon, tea for one and nothing good on the telly. It is an empty house on a domestic day, the dry wind stirring along the empty streets like a thousand restless ghosts, the needle of the record player ripping the cut in your favorite vinyl a little bigger every time it skips over the stitch. Those old songs have fuzzy edges and scratchy rises, and they dally along the notes like children playing hopscotch; but nothing beats being able to hear the piano keys changing notes. When Ella Fitzgerald whispers for you to dream a little dream of her, you think that maybe she knows a little something about blue…❤

#EllaFitzgerald #LouisArmstrong