And as the sky paled to ashen grey,
I reverted back to the days of simplistic poetry about the weather.
How golden leaves contrasted sharply against the whiteness of above.
Content to ignore my inner conflicts,
I could entertain myself with the sight of my breath,
The squish of moist earth beneath my boots.
It was easier to look in the mirror and be pleased with what I saw
When the light was refracting through these dense clouds.
And none would be the wiser when they saw me happily trotting along.
None would have seen a falter in my grin,
Nor a lack of luster to the light in my eyes.
Perhaps that's the point to these little bits of written art.
If we can see a beauty in a drop of rain,
Then why not ourselves.