Gray Skies

Whenever I have insomnia, and the sun rises but the sky stays gray, and the air is thick with rain... It feels like salvation. Like some kind of omnipotent clemency. Like something merciful and clean... something like a small hope, or much like the feeling upon waking to only a blurry vague remembrance of a good dream.

I can face the inevitability of morning without being blinded, but instead with solace as I lay still watching the curtains flap open to the rhythm of the fan and I see light for once not as an unrelenting or unforgiving force, but something gentle and almost pure.

As the curtains move in predictable rhythms it all becomes some sort of great dance that turns into some sort of strange peep show of a world I normally feel I don't belong in.

& I finally get to glimpse what is really out there as long as the gray silences the loudness of the sun, and I can feel almost completely whole for a just a moment... because I get to glimpse the beauty that surrounds me in a world that is usually too bright and busy to bear. Beauty that sometimes, I even forget is there.