It will come as no surprise to know that it’s raining and clearly has been for a while. The ground is sodden, the gutters and drains flowing, the soundtrack is the splash of falling rain on grass, leaf and path. The calls of crows huddled in the ash. The oak swaying in the breeze sending cascades of water to the floor and carries brown leaves into the air. A few gulls brave the elements and pass overhead. And to top it all it’s Monday. A lot warmer than the last few days is perhaps a bonus. A later start means that modernity and all its trappings is in full flow, but somewhat muted by the force of nature that is this minting weather. In fact the underpinning of this morning is the sound of trees bending and rain falling. It’s grey. The light is grey, the cloud is grey and it feels grey. Pondering the greyness of it all this morning and grey itself. The colour of the morning, the grey that defines the wisdom of age, the emotion of grey that sometimes defines monotony, the disinterest in life at that moment, the grey in literature that sometimes defines boredom, the definition of grey thinking being perceptions that don’t fit into particular ways of thinking, or can’t be boxed into our usual patterns of understanding. A sense that sometimes the colour grey sums up a mixture of colours, thoughts and emotions. In Martin Chuzzlewit Dickens writes that ;
“ Regrets are the natural property of grey hair “.
The colour grey covering a huge gamut of feelings, emotions, thoughts, status, experiences and wisdom. The ultimate power of grey. So much more to say but the morning is away. Lovely days people.
“ There are infinite shades of grey. Writing often appears so black and white.” Rebecca Solnit.
Comments