Gray clouds coat the sky, rubbing in the dim light of a sun that doesn’t want to shine. It’s industrial spring, a haze of mist coating everything, painting it dully grey. The flowers are supposed to shine in vivid colours, I know it. They don’t. The air, the day, the light, I don’t know what it is; it’s making them look tired, dull and washed out. Worn, yes, worn, like the coat I’m wearing, the leather fraying and ripping against the chilly winds. It’s spring, the season claims it, the last remains of snow are melting in the bushes at the shaded parts of the street. I’m out, camera in hand, trying to get a picture that wishes to stick to the camera. Trying to find something out there that is worth saving, just a glimmer of something. Something I want to save.

I glare at the grass, the moisture of the molten snow licking it to the ground, dull grey and washed out green, unable to protect the dirt beneath it. I sigh and turn the camera down. The flowers aren’t worth the attention, and the trees are still dead, the pale light barely drying their bark out during the day. I growl at the lady with the poor inbred remnant of a dog beside her, her green coat brushing my bag as she pushes her way past, the furry rat on the leash yapping after me as it attempts to get ahead of her.

I walk on, stones making a crushing sound beneath my boots as I stride downwards, turning left and right, eyeing the people as they stand, huddling in the beams of sunlight, trying to consume energy the sun doesn’t have. I sigh, the mismatched crowd of eighties fashion and winter mixing amongst the people.

I glare, meeting the glances of the people waiting for the bus. They know I watch them, they know I judge them as they stand posing for the people, trying to keep a nonchalantly bored look behind the oversized sunglasses, the trendy jackets and cigarettes. I just can’t stand it. Wherever I walk, there is more of it.

It’s just one of those days, where it should be spring, there is sun, there is light, but still the light and the people are stuck in winter. The colours are dulled and grey, faded, saturated, paled. There is simply no spring there. The signs are there, the people pretend it, but it doesn’t work. I sigh and resign myself that nothing will be caught today and head home.

Just a few blocks away from home, my day is brightened up by a shining red coat that’s tastefully draped over a lady. The vivid colour breaks the dull grayness of the day as she’s standing, shifting from foot to foot, her face full of concern as she looks at the bum lying passed out at her feet. She bends forwards, not even casting a shadow across the walkway where the bum is resting his head on his hand, drunk asleep after falling off the bench his friend is still sitting on. She looks around, concerned, moves a bit, back and forth, back and forth. She looks up again, uncertain on what to do in the situation. Her bags are clutched firmly between her hands in front of her, and then she kicks him in the face to see if he responds.

Ah, isn’t spring grand?