A Grey Day
A grey day.
Dark trees against a lighter sky,
though one hard with iron and thick with impediment -
we can't see ourselves on the other side.
Created in the vacuum behind all our love and joy
as they plow forward,
these days form as a question,
like when you rent a vacation home
that's filled with pictures of the owner's family -
you wonder about them.
Grey like you feel you're a little bit wrong,
like you're owed the water,
or that you can't have it if you want it.
Rain when there's a good reason to go outside,
when you have to touch the pavement,
when solitude is coming for you.
We don't hate life, but sometimes things are just too wet.
Somber hills in the distance, grey and mute,
they have nothing to offer.
Rain on the roof,
blankets your ears with sound, a soft, final roar.
Outside, no shadows are thrown,
you have to imagine them.
A grey day with leaf-choked ponds and ancient, dirty snow piles.
Time, desultory and forlorn, drags its feet over you.
A day of tired mud and night, half begun.
The clouds are not lonely, but you are.
A day like when she walked away.
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