256 Zones of Gray
Rain is an excuse
I didn't want to use so
I went out into
the filter of cloud,
a day imitating Ansel Adams
with
256 zones of gray,
each a color of its own,
each distinct,
each alive,
and crisp,
and clear.
The autumn foliage
plots to cheat the day
with
muted pigment,
but light doesn't allow it.
Water, sky, tree, grasses
full of color, yet not.
Silver water beads on waxy leaves.
I won't
sit on the park bench today,
but stand at the juncture of black and white,
in the cast of muted light,
in the spectrum filtered sky.