Gray, gray, dreary gray.

The rat-a-tat-tat on the metal roof.
The continuous drip-drop,
drip-drop,
on the back porch steps.

I watch the drops race each other
down the window.
Leaving zig-zag trails that intwine,
like an enormous spider's web.

The pond.
gray, with patches of black.
Flying,
spinning,
across the surface.
Like giant water bugs.
Little speckled waves form,
and lap at the edges,
like a cat
lapping its dish of milk.

The off white of the sky.
The blank, long sky.
Reaching out over the wet and waving,
dripping trees.

The stone wall crawls
along the edge of the hill.
Shiny and wet.
With dull green moss
on the garden steps.

Like Yorkshire.
Like my grandma's house.

Gray, gray, dreary gray.