Michael Gravel Edmonton Writer

The Holding of Gray

It just happened to be a Monday. The sky was a shade of eggshell and the trees were sprinkled with frost. I was in the valley for ten minutes only. To my right, the steel of downtown. Left, was a bank of trees that would not have looked out of place on a postcard. The hum of the vehicle was in my seat and the radio was silent. It was a scene that could have gone unnoticed – one that could have simply slipped from memory like the rest of my thoughts. But this scene was a product of weather and time and awareness, like squelching a caffeine rush, or brushing through a steaming prairie night. My eyes cued to this lack of contrast with little effort. The eyes are comfortable with gray; not as much work to resolve. Further down the river, thin clouds had gathered to hide the tree frost and I cannot confirm or deny that a flock of waxwings whistled somewhere on the edge of my field of view. The maw of morning cars ticked away the minutes, head forward and pedals down. Confident and unswayed, the trees held the gray at bay as I wound out of the valley.

Entry #117 · February 28, 2010 in