The Week of Grey


The Week of Grey 


By Kristin Lane


It was time for the week of grey


The sky knew.  It had become the soft flat spring grey, yielding soft mist in the day and gentle yet insistent rain at night.  Softening the earth and providing for the shoots and flowers whose time to flourish was soon, but first must come the week of grey.


The day knew. The clock time had changed and an hour of mortal time was erased.  A reminder that time is fleeting.  We could no longer postpone the week of grey.


The birds knew.  No bright and eager chirps and calls,  only the soft low sighing of doves.  They were summoning the week of grey.


The mirror knew.  One look showed her eyes normally blue had taken on the color of stone and her hair that of cool steel.  She was ready for the week of grey.


The room knew.  The shadows were not black, but soft and gentle and blended with the light in the rest of the room.  No hard lines or divisions.  Less mysterious and suddenly open and welcoming.  Safe to enter and explore now.  It was okay to begin the week of wrey.


She knew.  The colours and songs would come again after the celebration of  the week of grey.