Ed Harkness
	Out of the Blue Now and then it happens, often in March, the sun a dazzle in the bare aspens. Blown from clouds hidden behind Bethel Ridge, snow will fall out of the blue like sparks, a swarm of glitter, floating first as feathers, then cool specks on your cheek, like tears from far away. One moment, you’re listing all your failings. The next, you’re with your lover on a gravel bar, showered in a confetti of light.