Disclaimer: Bubbles taste sort of like pie. The ERs are packed at this time of the night. Anti-freeze is not the liquid version of a heater or an oven. It's not a fancy type of sauce.

Grey days

Frost formed in the air, spiraling down. The earth-scented, frigid winds blew, nibbling promises of a coming storm. The world was faded...

Pale...

Painted grey...

My mind took flight and soared...

Unhampered by wings

And the limits of day

The damp, clear air

Loosened my grip on fragile reality

My shackles to a drab illusion.

Breathe.

Time moves at its own pace. We perceive it wrongly.

Dreams dream their own dreams. We live within them.

The sky seems empty yet cloudy. Sounds feel clearer... More quiet... Each a trickling note on a divine masterpiece. You can hear the songs... Sirenic... Harmonic...

Breathe.

The sky was grey, throwing all beneath from coloured to black and white into the light and state of calm, eternal contemplation.

Those days when the sun is clothed and it seems as if it might rain, but doesn't. When the world is quiet and time stands still. When it's breezy or windy, with the air damp and cold. When you could close your eyes and feel the tranquil movements of your thoughts... Grey days.

I love grey days.

Their clarity and decrease in celestial illumination...

Their meditative feel and breathless captivation...

Their feeling of desolate eternity...

Neither cradle nor grave...

Their emotional apathy...

No annoyances...

No disturbances...

No Dib...

No Zim...

No unwanted events...

Whether or not my eyes are closed...

I can see Existence.

I feel at peace.