The sky was gray, the color of emptiness.
There were no dramatic clouds or bright patterns; not a single patch of blue anywhere to add a dash of hope. No sign of the sun.
Just gray. Endlessness.
Pushing up into that void were the green buds and tender white blossoms of the plum tree. What does it know? It only knows spring.
Looking up, hoping for a sign: Which way to go?
To sink into the void or hold onto a tendril of hope, however fragile?
Time won't wait; time doesn't care.
On another day, those flowers would be beautiful and fill this place with purpose. The future would be clear, or at least seem possible.
But on this day, the cold sky won out. There was no respite for the softer feelings, tender but unwelcome, vulnerable without a home; they could only sink back into gray.
-30-
1 comment:
Although the gray appears over powering- the tender white blossoms will bloom irregardless. When enough of them have bloomed- one will see the hope of the blossoms more than the gray surrounding them. This is the key!
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