A scene washed with January gray:
gray squirrel lurching
from gray stone to gray stone;
gray sparrow spading through gray mulch.

Yes, there are spots of muted color–
pale green winter-grass,
the dulled red and yellow
of the lodge-like building across the courtyard,
but this is spare color beside a gray, concrete path,
beneath a flat, gray sky.

And me,–
58-year-old man–
standing squarely in the hotel window,
graying hair,
graying thoughts,
shoulders straight, back and down,
breathing reflectively,
contented to be still,
at peace with the gray morning,
waiting for nothing other. 

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.