A steely grey January day

It is 5:30 P.M., twilight I would say. As I look out my studio window the snow that has been falling all day continues to fall. As far as I can see the world is white and black and completely veiled in a steely grey twilighty haze. Dusk.

I have been pondering the spelling of grey versus gray. For me, today is a grey day. The pale wool coat I had as a little girl with it's thin windowpane checks of butter yellow was gray. It was a coat for Easter, in New England Spring coats were part of life. Oddly, now that I live below the Mason Dixon line they seem a bit of a luxury-which to me makes them all the more a necessity.

I think gray is a soft color while grey is a cold color. Then of course there is the confusing matter that white horses are called grey. I had a grey horse once that was actually grey, but really she was gray. She was sweet and soft and so lovely. Bunnies are gray, smoke puffing out of smokestacks is grey. My Mother's hair was gray, but really it was the most glorious white. I am getting more perplexed as I write. The spelling of grey, I like to think is arbitrary. And there is not much arbitrary in the world of spelling. But it seems to me, you can choose your spelling depending on the feeling you wish to give. Cold and steely or soft and cozy. If only it were the case with all spelling, I could write and feel like I am painting at the same time. I suppose some people do feel that way, spelling rules and all. Looking back at these words I see all the greys are underlined in red. Too bad spell check, you do not get to choose, I do.