I feel as if I’ve gone months without seeing the sun, though I know that isn’t really the case. There were a few sunny afternoons last week. I should have saved those days for myself with photographs or poetry. Instead I let them slip by unappreciated.
Today is gray, flat, and empty. I look up and my chest tightens because I think the sky is folding in on me. I can hardly breath, and I can’t see past this colorless day, this colorless mood I’m in.
My mind is wrapped in a gray sky of its own.
The days are getting shorter. We’ll soon be at the shortest day of the year. After that, the world gets lighter and brighter. We anticipate the warm glow of spring even though the coldest months lie ahead.
My task is to survive these dark days. I must find a way to live and breathe under the gray sky. I have to fill my bucket with the color that I create (I must create it), and splash it liberally on the walls of my world. I have to fight the urge to succumb to the enfolding sky.