Tag Archives: grey
Bright pink flowers burst with life. Consummate showmen, they zing against the grey of the rain-soaked window. Tight buds wait in the wings beneath the dark green leaves, ready for their cue to enter.
A shepherd’s warning. The sky is blood-red, cloud-clotted. Lit by a fiery glow, as if the gates to hell lie just beyond the horizon. Minutes pass and the fire dies down, replaced by a normal autumn grey.
He sits at his usual café table. Lank, sparse hair is plastered across his bald patch and his burly body is wrapped in a tattered, grey anorak. No-one gives him a second glance, yet inside lurks the soul of poet.
Fields of dried stubble glow a bright yellow, picked out by golden rays. From their left comes a grey misty curtain of water, slowly extinguishing each light as it moves.
The little grey dog stops, tail not moving, ears pricked. Opposite him is a tortoiseshell cat, sideways on, back arched. Neither moves a muscle. A stand off is in progress, but who will win?
A tiny black figure manoeuvres skilfully against the grey tide. As his kite turns, a flash of bright orange lights up against the pink, twilit sky.
She shoots out of a hedge and lands at my feet with a squeak. She demands to be picked up and settles onto my shoulder, purring. Her grey back and white tummy are as smooth as silk, her eyes narrowing … Continue reading
In the entrance sits a woman in a wheelchair. She looks thin and grey, holding a small cup of water in her hand. Our eyes meet and we smile. A moment of human contact, comforting for us both, I hope.