Some of the sky was yellow, some the softest blue. One small cloud scuttled
along. Strange how everything below can be such death and chaos and pain
while above the sky is peace, sweet blue gentleness. I heard a shaman say once,
the Ancestors want our souls to be like the blue sky.
Shannon Hale (Book of a Thousand Days)
How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me
like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice.