By Caleb Powell
I don’t think I can recall
the day I preferred a sky of grey.
Maybe the sun was too bright,
the air was too warm,
it was all too much.
On a day when the sky is grey,
everything is calmer.
My eyes need not adjust
when I step into the world.
The breeze is cool against my skin,
leaving goosebumps along my arms.
I take deep breaths of crisp air,
thankful for a break from the sun.
I used to hate the rain.
Soaking my clothes
and the homework in my bag.
But now, I embrace the chill it brings,
standing silently as the drops rush
down, reaching towards the concrete,
drawn in by gravity.
I still can’t stand the snow.
It is cold, wet, and too bright.
Everything you shouldn’t want.
Yet, snow atop branches and roofs
brighten the darkest places.
Families go sledding and play,
they construct snowmen of all sizes,
and their outlines become angels on the ground,
frozen in place, frozen in time.
However, I recently respected
A blue skied, sunny day.
It was warm and bright,
with a gentle breeze that
hugged like a grandparent.
The sun smiled down as if I
had won first place or made
an A on my History test.
I realized my heart had become grey,
my tears had fallen more often,
