by Matthew Addison
Rainy days and claustrophobic lows come back in waves.
They cover me from head to toe, triumphant in their ways.
humor is the only shield against the dark that creeps on in.
I lay there waiting, cynically, for it to all come to an end.
Soon enough the clouds roll off. The sun comes out to stay.
the cordial colors of the sky diversify as they fray.
into ribbons blue and pink they burst into array.
Beauty is only recognized after all the rainy days.