Who wants the sky down like a ceiling? Dark and low, overhead, it's not my friend. The colors so far off are holding my fire, my feelings. I need to raise the sky off my head.
The air is pressing in on me.
I stretch a bit to make me taller. The clouds respond with an upward move. A breeze begins. It's just light one, but a tiny hair tickles my face. I see a glimpse of light upon it. I feel a sparkle in my eye. I stand that little bit taller. The clouds again respond by moring high.
They say we make the weather. I've never tried to make it rain. I went for snowfall at midnight on Christmas eve once. Sure enough it really came. Yet, who'd have thought, when I was feeling pressured, that all I had to do was raise the sky?
--me strauss Letting me be