Grey Days

Grey days  have been upon us. Grey and cold. The grey tones in the clouds bring satisfaction to my eyes, as I lose myself in the folds and wrinkles—depths of tone and texture. Driving along the highway yesterday, I saw grey-black smoke billowing. “A fire”, I say. Not realizing how close. We pass and I take in the scene: A Volkswagen Bug engulfed in flames. The wind making the fire appear as a spinning Ferris wheel out of control. I wanted to take a photo because the sight had a certain beauty to it, but who holds there camera in position at every single moment? It makes me feel that I should so that I don’t lose a moment. The father was at the backend—the source of the fire, maybe fifteen to twenty feet away. The son at the front end—where all the smoke was traveling. He had his arm held to his face to block the smoke. The two separated by this great burning obstacle—this heap of metal in flames—until the fire engines arrive. An ambulance was nearby, trying to weave in between cars, ready to assist. But they needed the fire engine. Thank goodness they were out of the car.