Grey Day Wanderlust

Seems like yesterday; Spring wildflowers. Summers heat and verdant rain. And insects. Those large, small and devilish desert collaborators, always walking. Seeking anything but grey.

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With the approach of winter, colors have fled the sky. The tans of fall’s grass are now growing into their resignation, grey. Trees have taken in their leaves. Amidst this vast absence, a longing blooms. Promises are held up to the sun. They are encased in sculptures spotting the landscape.

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Residual color was found harboring an angles artifact. A spirit came and went across depleted clouds, forever altering the geometric sensibilities of gravity. Wind or rains future will decide the next attraction.

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Reality is silhouette. What was is not, while what will be is uncertain. Dreams have crawled underground, joining worms and acorns stored in a colorless pantry. While I walked around in terminal awe, trying to capture the in-fleeting significance of grey, of black and whites hybrid child. So stark, yet so fertile.

It reminds me, of love with its absence all the more colorful.

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