Yellow on gray

At one time I was writing down thoughts and observations, running a kind of closed blog. Back then, the new iPad allowed me to do it almost anywhere, and the idea of regular notes once a day was born. Some of them spoke more about the mood than the environment, which became an interesting experiment. To keep small fragments of emotions, sometimes deeply subjective, and at other times associated with quite tangible events. Over time, the materials, which were patient enough, found themselves in the Daily Tales folder on the archive hard drive. “Yellow on Gray” is one of such notes.

Entering the dining room on the floor, I put sandwiches in the microwave and went to the window. The fourth floor overlooked the impressive size of the parking lot, behind which lay a heap of garages. The frowning sky added to the picture: everything was gray, and it seemed that the world around was put on pause.

Waiting for my dinner I began to count the cars and I caught a lonely young tree. It was almost in the center of the parking lot. A slender trunk, wet and shiny, was sticking out of the narrow grey lawn that served as a parking space divider. Bright yellow and orange leaves shook convulsively on thin branches. The tree shook and wriggled like a prisoner trying to tear its shackles. It lived its life surrounded by dead concrete.

The characteristic squeak signaled that the food was ready. Turned away from the window, I took out my breakfast and went back to the office.

October 11, 2011