In Strange Places

A grey and cold day, close to but not at freezing. I struggle in days without sun. I struggle still with the weight of a heart heavy with grief. Everywhere I look, I see only gray.

Except.

I pull up to an intersection. To my right, a former used car lot. A metal pipe runs its perimeter. A dull orange, it is the color of marmalade, of deep saffron, of a barn swallow’s throat.