Grey Flannel

Grey Flannel.  The early morning darkness didn't conceal what I could not see.  The sky looked like a large, solid sheet of grey flannel.  Rain so fine it fell as a mist; tree tops outlined as though one was peering through a whisper thin fog.  Taking one last sip from my water bottle, I set it on the concrete bench nestled in the corner of the patio.  I hit the start button on my Garmin.

As I am recovering from a sprained ankle, I take it easy and start with a brisk walk.  Leaving the cul-de-sac, I make my way onto one of only two roads into our neighborhood.  The morning is quiet.  I hear a raccoon scamper up a large pine tree, in which it conceals the visitor with it's massive branches.  I begin to run for a distance.  My ankle feels good.

A neighbor passes me on their way to work.  Although in the darkness I can not see him, I know he is smiling and waving as he drives by so I do the same; his headlights lighting up my refelctive jacket making me stick out in stark contrast to my surroundings. 

I walk for a short distance before continuing my run allowing my ankle to warm up.  The misty rain is thicker now as I run along the roadside.  There is a spot on my foot that is making me very aware of its presence.  For three weeks I convinced myself it was sore from the sprain, but now I am looking at the reality it could be more.

I struggle with calling the orthopedic doctor.

Nearing the turn around I slow again to a walk.  Nature is quiet and I try to get my head to be the same.  Too many thoughts, too many questions, too much nagging going on in my foot.  I turn it over to God.

The road that takes me home is colored black from the rain.  The neighborhood begins to waken; kitchen lights glow lending proof the day is beginning for some.    My run ends and I stop my watch.  I stand for a moment on the back patio, listening to the quiet, and feeling the rain.  The misty rain feels soft against my skin, just like the softness of a grey flannel sheet.