Grey day
I hold nothing in my hands of this day,
no fragments of caught sun,
an early flower, bud-burst,
one or two of the fierce notes
of the thrush’s song;
the light is too dim to see
behind the quiver
of those frost-touched leaves,
rippling in the north wind,
casting no shadows.
Poetry and Images
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The lack of shadows–that captures so much of this endless grey. (K)
I hate this flat two-dimensional light. So hard to fix on anything properly.
It flattens everything.
It does. Including morale.
I was thinking emotions. Same thing.