It’s blue outside, he said.

What do you mean? She asked, rolling over in bed.

Lightning, he told her. He stood at the bedroom window a little longer. I’m going to make some coffee. You want some?

No, dear, she replied. Just some more sleep. The wife folded the pillow under her head. Pulled blankets up to her chest.

He placed the coffee in the filter. Poured water and turned the machine on. All while looking outside. Blue, he said. It’s blue.

Coffee was poured. He added cream and sugar. Sat at the kitchen table. Slowly, he took sips from his mug, which had a picture of Lake Michigan on it.

The thunder began an hour later. Loud crackles. Rain fell. He began mumbling to himself about events of long ago. Talking in loops. Information was discussed over and over again with himself. Stories of when he was younger and watched storms from the bedroom window. He laughed.

She came into the room. Watched from behind as her husband chuckled. Dear, she said. Are you alright?

It’s blue outside. It’s blue.