Last week, I rode my bike up to the north bridge around sunset hoping to catch some sun-setting loveliness. Unfortunately, all the usually present tinges of rose, mauve and gold seemed to be on strike for the day and I was mostly left with a sad little pallet of non-present pinks and ungolden grays.
But since I was there, and since I had my camera, and since I had no other place I needed to be, I shot a few photos anyway and did the whole black and white thing with them. In the process I found that even though a black and white sunset isn’t nearly as inspiring as one in its fullest splendor, it can still speak to certain spaces inside us.
So I ended up taking pictures of gray clouds. And gray water. And a gray bridge. And to my surprise, when I looked back at those pictures, I discovered that gray possesses its own sort of glory.
So here’s to all the sunsets in our lives that come to us swathed in swirls of gray. Here’s to all the moments that arrive unadorned with color and unburdened with beauty–quiet, soul-stirring, simple moments of gray.