Blue comes to mind

 when I hear mellow jazz.  Percussions included.  

Silence

enters the percussive. Re-reading Chiyo-ni. Sipping tea.  Remembering last night's jazz.  
 

Percussion is never devoid of color

During the Pandemic, I have found my way home to jazz. Nourished by SF Jazz's Fridays @ 5. Sacred time. Full of color. Full of spirit. Much like walking is the way I find my way home. Same with cooking. Writing, a given.

I love jazz in the afternoon

late afternoon with coffee. Perhaps, a Walker shortbread. The air inhabited by color. Green & blue. Always red. Some hues linger. When the line works, the heart holds on. A word or two, remembered.