The sky has returned
to its familiar grey.
It has shed the mask
of bright blue
and loosened its grip
on the sun —
a long exhale
after weeks of carrying
the light.
It carries that weight
no longer.
It has been waiting
to meet the clouds again,
to fold itself back
into their soft, wandering company.
And now, descending into joy,
it keeps its breath
close to the earth.
Winter arrives,
and the sky undresses:
no more layers
of scorching sunshine,
no more blinding blue façade.
In frosty whites
and patient, dreich greys,
it returns to its truth —
unadorned,
unashamed,
finally,
itself.
