A Song in Gray

Today's canvas is being painted in monotones instead of the usual pastels.  It's as if a dismal bleakness stretches across the horizon, subduing even the frog's harmony that greeted us just yesterday.

 

The paint brush is dry and raspy, laying a dismal annoyance over any potential that may have sprouted.  This, however, is not a portrait of despair but simply an absence.  

 

The artist has left the room and nature herself now mutes the breeze, slows the rivers and dulls all expectations.

 

Flannel strings are never plucked or strummed, they are gently woven into small puddles that play throughout the day in your head, until the percussion of sunlight startles the melody and thoughts of a rainy day are suddenly evaporated back into the air.

 

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