Black and White: Part 2

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Empty chairs and empty tables.  Old bricks, forged from clay the copper red of blood, turn ghostly gray.  Are those shadows from iron chairs, or scars in the sidewalk?  Outdoor seating on the cusp between seasons: even when the sun breaks through, it is too cold to be inviting.

Yet there comes a time when black and white turns Technicolor.  You can see it with a blink–tables filled, the smell of ground coffee wafting through a bakery door as customers no longer cocooned for winter stream in and out, patio seating restored to forest green, yapping dogs tethered to chair legs as their human companions soak in summer sun. Traffic and flowers just beyond the bricks.  A fountain sprung back to whooshing life. Fathers and children walking hand-in-hand.  Alive, alive, oh.

But for now, empty.


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Missing in Massachusetts (c) SMG


Author: Stephanie

In her spare time, Stephanie works full-time, and then some, as an attorney. She has published articles and delivered talks in arcane fields like forensic evidentiary issues, jury instructions, and expert scientific witness preparation. She attended law school near the the banks of the Charles River and loves that dirty water; she will always think of Boston as her home. You are welcome to take a look at her Facebook author page, or follow @SMartinGlennon on Twitter and @schnitzelpond on Instagram. Bonus points for anyone who understands the Instagram handle. All content on this blog, unless otherwise attributed, is (c) 2012-2023 by Stephanie M. Glennon and should not be reproduced (in any form other than re-blogging in accordance with the wee Wordpress buttons at the bottom of each post) without the express permission of the domain holder.

4 thoughts on “Black and White: Part 2”

  1. You see beauty and meaning in black and white, as you do in
    “technicolor.” Lovely post — moving words and pictures.

  2. It is those of us touched by Jim, whether family or friends. This week is certainly gray, and shadowy – no color, no coffee smell. And, truly, that is the way it is now and may always be mid-March for us. Our memories and our grief pull us back to this precious, deeply tragic week. Knowing that sunlight and technicolor are on the way, perhaps a little sooner in Pennsylvania than NH, helps pull me through. In the meantime, memories of sadness are just here. Love you.

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