Mute Light

Sat in the living room.
The outside seems remarkably still - a silence in the air. The sky is a uniform shade of grey, though that grey seems laced also with a thread of something yellow too. It is the kind of sky that hangs over certain aspects of England in mid-spring, over a landscape of pylons and waste-grounds perhaps, a clogged canal sky.
I hear the occasional sound from one of the workshops below me, but even their sounds are muted and kind.
Two cacti sit on pots in the window.
The light through the metre gap between the curtains falls heavily, causing my fingers to cast shadows across these keys.
Makes me wish for sleep and strange daytime dreams.