I am gray

I am gray
     the softest gray
gray of the morning dove’s wing
     gray as the misty morning fog
          kissed by the rising sun
I am gray
     of a frozen winter lake
     of a shadowed distant hill

I am the gray of
     of the stones of the hearth
          where bread cools at the end of day
     the gray of a woman’s  fine silk dress
catching the evening’s glow
I am
     the gray of goose down
          plucked to line her nest
     gray as the fluffy tail of a squirrel
racing against the wind
I am gray
     as milkweed fluff
          bursting from the pod
I am the gray
     of the sail of the yacht
          far out across the bay
     the gray of the weathered barn
          shelter at end of day
I am the gray
     of the soft woolen scarf
          that shuts out winter’s wind
the gray of a hand thrown cup
          made from the finest clay
Gray
     like the blowing bark of the birch
          strewn across the snow
     or strings of a violin’s bow
Gray
     as the comforter
          draped over the foot of the bed
Gray?
     Yes gray
     Its gray I am!
      Gray as the hairs
of the wise woman’s head.