Check out Carmi's post for more gray.
When Carmi prompted us to post a gray-themed picture I started thinking about what I might use as my gray subject. What is gray for me? What comes to mind when I think of gray?
The simplest answer is that gray is a paint chip; one of those little pieces of paper you get at the hardware store with a series of "warm grays" or "cool grays" that you can hold against your wall, scrunch up your eyes and try to figure out what it would look like magnified a thousand times to fill the room.
Beyond that, however, I realized that gray (to me) is a story. gray is my drive to work
with the interior of the car in a color that Toyota (that year) called "stone."
Gray can be a boring length of galvanized steel.
But if I back up a step, I see it has a story to tell, with a hole and rust, and a chain.
Gray is the color of rocks around here.
I grew up with rocks that were predominantly beige. New England granite, however, seems to be mostly served up in gray.
The gravel beneath my feet can tell a story; this time the story is about nature's resilience.
The Civil War Monument downtown is gray, and definitely tells a story, with the names carved in the bottom section. The fact that it is in good shape and not neglected is also a story.
I just know that this house has stories to tell.
Even the parking meter I used on Wednesday has a story to tell. I see that it wasn't always gray. It seems to me that in a former life it was blue.
But the favorite gray for me are these chairs.
Simple folding chairs might seem to be a boring story. But every time these chairs come out of the basement it is because we're expecting company, and that is always a smile-worthy occasion.