The Beauty of Gray

As I course the forty miles between Williamsburg and Chesapeake, Virginia I must traverse the eastbound strip of the Monitor Merrimack Bridge. The sky this morning is gray and dense; it sprays light mist across my windshield. The fog tumbles over the surface of the steely Chesapeake Bay.

“The beauty of gray” declares the song.

Today, in my iatrogenic, post-call haze, everything seems foggy-gray but peaceful. You are the lighthouse that I know exists, now behind me, visible only from the other side of the bridge. Because of concrete walls I cannot see the Thimble Shoal Lighthouse traveling eastbound on Hwy 664. But, like the lighthouse, I know YOU are there. Apropos as the lighthouse is a beacon that leads one to safety and serves as a symbol of hope.