The Beauty of Gray

1987-08-18

Image credit: AI+

I. Jagged cracks of pure light flicker flicker draw silhouette in the gray mist of rain cloud and winddust. Rumbles resonate to the ends of the sky and flash back again. Trees sway with the warm, restless breeze. A few big drops of rain slap the dry concrete with dark damp splotches. The wind holds its breath and lets it out with a sighing swish. Water falls to the gorgeous thunder rhythm, washing the world with staccato spatter. Wind whips the rainspray. II. I drink in the storm. Wind blows my shirt, and wet spots cool my warm brown skin. The damp freckles merge. Rain falls cold from matted hair to make tiny rivulets in the wrinkles of my forehead. Trickles slowly fill my lashes, and drop to my cheeks when I blink. From there they run like tears, lukewarm, to the crease of my lips. When I open my mouth to breathe the storm air, the rainwater slips in. It tastes faintly wet leaves diluted green sweet? The scent of evergreen shrubs comes strong and damp. More drops fall from my hair and slip smoothly down my neck and back and tickle coolly in my ears. I jam cold hands tightly into pockets, hunch cold shoulders, and blow the tickling water off the tip of my nose. III. The rain falls faster. Cars whiz by, lights, wipers, heaters, radios on. One passenger glances at me, wondering at the kid who stands in the rain. A connoisseur, I think to him. I puff another raindrop from my nose, and shiver mightily. IV. Rabonni — I hear the song I feel the strokes I see the images I know the Master piece. Thank you for showing an apprentice the beauty of gray.