The clouds are dark and flat, forming a lid on the world. The lid is ill fitting, it chatters around the mountains, and gold light pours in. The sun sends out tendrils, looking for openings, shining brightly through the cracks, warming the air inside. The clouds are stubborn, resisting the light, maintaining the darkness.
I am inside, looking out through the cracks. Where would we be without mountains, keeping the clouds from forming a seal, allowing in color and brightness and hope for a better day.
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