Touch of Grey

Fog wraps The Hideaway this morning and it is, once again, a dreary palette outside the window. This is the greyest place I have ever lived including San Francisco which does have a reputation for foggy days. People refer to Oregon as green, but I beg to disagree. It is GREY. Shades of grey from light to dark. Mist, smoke, fog, haze, frost, ice, steam, ash, dust, marble, granite, stone, slate, steel, dusk, dove, charcoal, platinum, pewter, silver. The color of the yarn I am using to knit a grey sweater is called “storm.”

Everything is grey. The sky, the fog, the mist, the river, the trees, the pavement, the air. The spirit and the people. Folks here hunker down inside their Goretex jackets and all you see are glum frozen expressions peeking out from under the hoods. The tone of life is grey with a down- trodden wet moldy feel. Grey is the color of depression and the prevalence of seasonal affective disorder sucks all the color out of the scene.

Oh well…touch of grey kind of suits me anyway. I will get by. I will survive.