Looking at it now, it is hard to imagine
the sky turned to black, the clouds grey and pendulous, pregnant
with cold, unfriendly rain.
Looking at sun-dappled wisps of white
across an overarching sheet of baby blue, it is impossible to believe
that on another day this benevolent ceiling will crack and roar,
throwing down balls of ice, for innocent walkers to dodge.
Looking at you now, the heavy clouds on your brow,
the rain in your eyes, the frost on your lips;
feeling your stillness and hearing your storms,
it is hard to imagine
that tomorrow the fog will clear,
the light will break through, and everything
will grow again, stronger than ever.
joannaibarnard 