Grey

Around us, long grey fingers of rain are dividing the pale storm light. There is grey at everything's edge; at the edge of the slate roofs, they too graced with grey doves, graven on leaden gutters. Migrating cranes fly gracefully in and out of the grey cloud; great empty cannisters, cooling towers, drift in the grazing land - graveyards of steel scrap lie by the grey railway. These lines are a grating which you are reading in print engraved a message - ingrained with grey.