a sunny sort of grey.

the morning was quiet.

with heavy fog.

grey.

the lines of the trees on our street captivated me.

intertwined.

connected and separate.

fighting for distinction.

reaching for sun.

quiet shadows lined in a row.

for miles.

i ran to the windows.
out the front door.
wanting to savor and save it.


up to the attic window.
to see.
the quiet sky.


my feet dangled through the open attic window.
taunting my usual life on the concrete below.

i watched. 

clicked the shutter.

a few moments were mine.

before the sun came out to play.

 and dance on the petals of a blooming gift of mine.

 to encourage a little bud to open up.

 and rejoice in it's own beauty.

not every day is wintery grey here in portland.
which helps me remember
that the greys in our lives don't stay forever.