The Afternoon the Clouds Stayed

It was supposed to clear by three. It didn’t.

I used to read weather like a verdict. Sun meant things were fine; clouds meant I had done something wrong, or was about to. It took me a long time to notice that the sky was never talking about me.

That afternoon the clouds stayed, low and soft, and the whole town looked like it had been drawn in pencil. I walked anyway. The puddles held the streetlights before the streetlights were even on.

Not every grey day is a sad one. Some are just the sky holding still long enough for you to catch up.

I came home with wet shoes and a quieter head. That was enough.