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# Grey
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/grey/
- Published: 2026-03-04T21:41:25.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:11:09.000Z
- Description: “Grey,” a brooding on the dreary late winter, early spring weather and its impact on mood. Written March 4, poem 063 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo, "A Magical Overlook on Maui," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Poems, Beach, Blah, Chameleon, Dry Humor, End of Winter, Flowers, Grey, Hawaii, Ides of March, Imagination, March, Maryland, Maui, Memories, Mood, Ocean, Vibe, Winter, Work, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

This fourth day of March  
has been brought to us  
by: the color Grey  
the mood Bleh,  
and the letter U(uuuugh).  
  
'Beware the Ides' they say  
but I argue it's this —   
the first week —   
that is most brutal.  
  
I forget each year  
and then I once again  
devastatingly remember  
that March is also   
not my friend.  
  
And that color and warmth  
— flowers and grass  
little squirmy birds   
out of blue shells —   
are all still so far from  
returning, heating  
blooming, hatching.   
  
We've made it to  
meteorological spring  
and it's above freezing  
— but not by much  
and the snow   
is largely gone  
— but the cold rain  
remains.  
  
We are in the hollow:  
the underside of the log  
the dark side of the moon  
the ambiguous fog of a day   
where the skies   
and rooflines  
and flagstone patios   
all dimly appear  
in the same muted tone.  
  
When I awake tired   
at six in the morning  
and yawn before lunch  
and then crawl into bed  
for a rare nap at two o'clock  
— and throughout I can't tell  
if the sun even rose today —   
then I know  
it is not yet time  
for celebration.  
  
And so in these   
calendrical equivalents   
to the doldrums at sea  
I have to manifest a revival  
in myself, from my memories.  
  
I summon the power of life  
of baking sun and blue skies  
and light that casts shadows  
and splendid riotous foliage  
puffy storybook clouds  
swirls of verdant landscapes  
and the aroma  
of endless botanicals.  
  
I close my eyes  
and I can see that   
leeward expanse  
on the side of a volcano  
exploding with flora  
bright and full of hope  
with a clear sightline  
miles long down  
to the cheery seas  
where warm Pacific waves  
crash with festive force  
against coral and lava sands.  
  
I will myself back  
to that moment of freedom  
to that immersive sanctuary  
where work was   
two plane rides away and  
my only job was Beach.  
  
I open my eyes,   
now peer out   
from my desk  
at the Maryland murkiness.  
  
While I can still view only  
ashen atmosphere as far   
as low visibility allows  
I swear I smell hibiscus.  
  
I hear the tickle of sticky  
Jackson's chameleon feet  
creeping in the summoned  
bushes and fronds  
that flank me and sway  
in the gentle coastal breeze.  
  
March too, shall pass.  
Until then, I call on   
the mainframe moments  
I once made in the   
Maui sunshine  
now handily stored in my  
curated mental repository  
to get through this grey.