“A gray mood, Syl, but when I think of you, I never picture you in gray,” Erma reveals candidly.
“Gray doesn’t suit me, not today anyway,” Sylvia admits.
Sylvia, taking an afternoon coffee break, ponders the seemingly innocuous comment made by her best friend earlier this morning when they chatted via Facetime, itself a rare occurrence for them as they rather look forward to conversations sans the impediment of visual aids. She sits on the bench in the great room, stares searchingly for clouds in her coffee, and finds none. Not a cloud or daydream to be had. For a change, she decides not to fret about the lack of creativity today. She is feeling melancholy which Erma obviously noticed, but she takes a bit of pride in her decision to go black and bold today. Taking the last remaining sip of liquid energy, she commends herself, “I’m not holing up or fleeing from anything or anyone. Let there be no ambiguity in my choices today. No gray. Only black.”
Today, black is decisive and almost vain. And isn’t that what we all need on occasion? Tomorrow, you get to choose all over again.
“She also considered very seriously what she would look like in a little cottage in the middle of the forest, dressed in melancholy gray and holding communion only with the birds and trees; a life of retirement away from the vain world; a life into which no man came. It had its attractions, but she decided that gray did not suit her.”