Snow

Could it be that snow is the sorrow of the sky?

Cold, stinging tears turned to ice in the fury of the winds. So plentiful are these tears that they drift down to meet the earth. The sky in its silent weeping hides its face from the ever joyous sun with its soft blankets of grey.  The mysterious wails heard in the wind are those of the sky, dismissed by listeners as their imagination in the winter cold. 

The sky's sorrow is misunderstood. As her tears continue to fall, laughter is heard from the people below. They see not misery, but fun and amusement. 
It is beauty to them. 

And when the tears stop from exhaustion, when the snow falls no more, there is a stillness. Time turns slowly although the clock moves the same. Some may feel this sensation while others treat it as a result from their duties.  It is the sky's way of thinking, the sky's reflection. 

Then there is either more sorrow or she moves on. The storm either continues or the sky becomes blue, clear, and bright. The people are oblivious when the sky returns to happiness. 

"The weather is beautiful today."

A Rainy Day

I opened my eyes. The soft drumming of the rain on my windowsill calmed me. Exhaling, I  looked out the window. Below my second floor apartment I could see the damp streets with rippling puddles. It was nearly dark and the dim street lights cast blurry pillars of pale yellow into the chilled air. The city felt empty as the last umbrellas disappeared into doorways. 

It had been a while since I had felt this way. It had been a while since that day I stood in the rain, waiting for someone I knew wouldn't come. Now I was alone in the silence of my room. No one bothered me and no one would ever bother me again. I closed my eyes and continued listening to the faint drumming of the rain. 

Dreaming

The fragrance of a cloudy day
Is different from the smell of rain.
The chilling wind and sunny warmth
Carries me away.
Away you say? How far is away?
As far as the dreams in our sleep?
As far as the dreams in our wake?
I am dreaming, even now.
What is distance when it cannot be measured?
Like the length of yearning
Or the depth of time.
What is joy when it cannot be captured?
A forgotten memory
A passing day. 
I am dreaming, even now.