It is a pale grey expanse, flat, flawed and without flowers.
A car park; the place where we leave our metallic beasts of burden.
Above the sky is a limited palate of colours; goose grey.
The barriers are dull brushed gun-metal grey.
Only the white lines to mark out the spaces break the monotony.
In this space it is a surprise to see a squirrel scurrying across the concrete.
He rushes, then creeps stealthily, paw by paw each placed individually, eyes looking left and right.
You can tell he feels exposed and vulnerable.
His tail waving in the wind a fluffy signal in the vast angular world
He is soft grey, fuzzy at the edges; his fur makes a little haze.
He has no idea in this concrete carbuncle he is completely camouflaged.