I thank you, overcast,
Though so many hold you in contempt,
I say to you, dear friend,
Those who are unable to find it within themselves,
To pay you with the respect due,
Shall never find appreciation in our universe.
The glorious sunshine,
The melancholic rain,
The rampaging rage of the vicious storm,
The frost and fear of the seeping, invading ice,
None of them remind me that I am alive as much as you do.
For you remind me that not all is sunshine,
Not all is the chagrin of the rain,
Not all is storm and violence,
Nor is it the freezing embrace of death,
No, the extremities of the seasons, the encompassing grasp of the weather,
None remind me of the trials and tribulations,
The brilliance and horrors,
The humility of life,
The chance,
The pure,
Mathematical,
Plausibility of my own existence.
It is you, overcast,
My dearest and most reliable companion.
It is you they shun,
For they describe you as boring,
Unmotivating,
Dull,
And I say to you,
As I say to them,
The depiction is wrong.
Not everything is in the extremes portrayed by the weather,
Nay, life is full of boredom,
No one experiences life to its fullest,
And those who think otherwise are fooling themselves.
It is you,
The greyness,
The unmoving,
The boredom,
That reminds me I am alive,
And will continue to live for however long I have left.
I promise you this overcast, I will appreciate you, for you keep me breathing.
Written on a cloudy day.
