It's Still Life

A Grey Strange [a very drafty draft]

Fog has me thinking
about grey,
its illusion of flatness,
its angles of play.
Like the village pond,
a still grey —
fog has no reflection,
and the edges of trees
are absorbed in its brine.

Nothing hums.
Nothing sings.
Birds are unhinged by it.
Mist washes green
from the grass, and
nothing is near, nor far.
I’ve always favoured
any hue of grey.
Give me any shade.

Blue grey.
Green grey.
Grey warmed up
under sun bonnets or
scented shadows on a trellis.
Driftwood grey that
snaps sharp and salty.
And on an impulse
I took a photo, and
recorded it.

image is from unsplash.com – Day 15 prompt “blank Strange”