The Chimney

Heavy iron grill, rusted with age. Long dead embers, crushed and cold. Remnants left, tales of better days.

Peer up if you will, past the hardened soot calcified on ancient bricks, past the finely enmeshed cracks racing ever upward, past the blackened bricks leading the way, to that square of clear cerulean blue, framed in black. The gentle patter of a passing shower.

What do you see?

A frame frozen in time, the juxtaposition of soot and sky or a glimpse of hidden horizons,the unknown waiting to be explored as the occasional cloud drifts by?

All I see is the death of a rainbow, the dwindling drops of water cool on the face as the sun climbs its inexorable arch.