“Grey or Gray?” someone asked recently. One of those questions that always pops up and no matter what the answer is going to leave someone unhappy (or amused at the poor choice).
Grey has that e in the middle that slides along like a car skiding on a wet street, like a cat dragging its sodden tail.
Gray has the giant space of the a encompassing the sea, the sea, and everything from ash to storms. Very overdone, very baroque, but cutting through all those down to the simplicity of itself. Gray.
Either/or, then. Depending on mood, year, weather, dinner, book last read, road last driven, election last voted on, bird just seen.
A long time ago Kelly wrote about this in The Specialist’s Hat:
Mr. Coeslak can tell the twins apart, even if their father can’t; Claire’s eyes are grey, like a cat’s fur, he says, but Samantha’s are gray, like the ocean when it has been raining.