Thursday, November 13, 2008
Clear skies left us last week.
And a thick blanket was drawn across from the western horizon.
In the eastern sky, a gap yet uncovered.
Where the rising sun burns, before hiding itself behind the heavy, gray cloak.
From the window, facing the woods, I watch as a Gray Squirrel readies his nest for winter. The large crumpled leaves of the sycamore, almost more than he can manage, carried one by one to the top of the tallest tree.
When the wintry skies blow fiercely, I will think of him there.
Wrapped in his leafy blanket.
The Gray beneath the gray.