6 feet under in the Utah snow.
Numbers falling below zero.
We like to bury ourselves beneath blankets and pillows.
But i've come to find,
morning comes just the same.
Whether you're depressed, hungover, sick, or deranged.
The weather doesn't care,
and your feelings don't change
the downpour, fleeing the overcast clouds,
falling down, all scattered about.
Sticking to windshields, and rooftops, and tongues.
It will clean out all the places that sat in the sun,
And refresh all the faces whose memories stung.
Replace all the moments where laughter was sung.
It will cover everything.
In a sheet of white,
overnight,
falling fast in
soft moonlight.
It will remind you of blizzards
in years past.
And leaving you feeling you're sorry you asked,
to ever escape the heat,
you will retreat.
Back into blankets and pillows,
and nostalgia to wallow.
But tomorrow the sun will come out again,
and no matter how clouded, be certain, then.
The weather is invincible,
and we will continue to trudge through it.