cinquain for a gray day

Sitting here, pondering the square of gray sky framed by my 6th floor window. Thank God for orange houses and blue roofs. For the human-made cacaphony of traffic lights, Christmas lights, and neon bar signs, because nature is failing us on color. For trips to stark white museum walls punched with pictures of red shoes and fuscia cows. Sitting here, staring blankly at the bare tree-tops and the ubiquitous limestone buildings (all gray), I played with writing a cinquain at the suggestion of a friend who is sitting in Alaska, watching her own white world from the kitchen window. Cinquain in two, four, six, eight, two--a few minutes pass in playing with poetry.

Just gray,
with chance of white
or blue or stormy green--
Falls's fickle palette--but mostly
just gray.