the road to the shadow box valley

Coming in through the haze, to the highway of grey, we are pressing on.  The tires fingerpaint the road – a pastel swipe of grey on grey.  And above the grey cloud of sky takes shape, molded by the light.

Then a sound of wind through a thin slit,

the soft rolling of tires

a tissue paper whisper

and we return to the shadow-box valley.