As the light approaches, the earth takes shape like clay pressed beneath a seal; it is robed in brilliant colors.
— Job 38:14
I contemplate the grays I see, standing
on my porch when it is 28 degrees—
our silly fat and faded ceramic frog,
the top of our pear tree against
the powdery sky, the bald cypress
and elms and pecans in our neighborhood,
and I am reminded of something I read
somewhere defining gray as having no
luminosity, but standing here looking
at this cool hue at dawn, I see it more
as a distillation of colors, a vibrancy of life
resting, but underneath a hint of silvery-light
just waiting to be released to the world.
—C.L. Fisher, February 2022
Unless otherwise indicated, all writings and images are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.
Poetic Meanderings 