Thursday, November 21(yet another grey day,,,)

• In the early morning, you hear the haunting coo of doves as you walk down the alleyway.
• Someone has washed and beaten all their rugs. Hanging over the fence, they create a rich pattern of  up-down, up, down; solid on one edge, vertical lines on the other end, and horizontal lines of various width in the middle. The red runs throughout, livening up the dreariness of the dusty day. 

• The bright yellow fallen leaves against the violet of the dusty cobblestones.

• Behind the red geraniums, two sets of twin sred and pink weatshirts are hung up to dry.

• The hanging laundry punctuates the dreary building: bright blue on one side, bright green on the other. (I know there is a lot of laundry in this post. The grey dustyness is getting to me. These are sometimes the only spots of color I see)

• A lone rook sits watching on a desolate tree. When I look at him, he takes off, squaking.