Gray morning, rain washes roses. Mrs. Rafferty hangs washing in hope of better things to come. I approach this day with my own hopes, searching for words to make sense of turbid dreams and my fluttering rock of a heart. The wet black street shines like polished chrome. Overarching trees, dark green shadow, scarlet blossoms framed by yellow jasmine; so precisely beautiful, as if there is a pattern, a meaning, a language to reclaim what has been lost in the rubble and dust where killing goes on as usual. Here, awash in apparent tranquility, bathed in supple gray streaked with the golden scarlet lightning strikes of spring, there is the luxury of an indifferent day. Thoughts of washing, words, color – the ferocious colors burning in the gardens of this world. -After reading “Wet Morning, Clareville Road” by Eamon Grennan
What Is Hope?
04 Tuesday Jun 2013
Eric Alagan said:
“…wet black street shines like polished chrome…”
Love this imagery – marvellous 🙂