Grey Sky, Bright Ground
The sky was grey,
as it often is on a sad day,
heavy with unspilled rain,
clouds rehearsing grief.
Yet below,
laughter leaked through cracked pavements,
faces bloomed despite the weather,
and hope refused its cue to hide.
The sky wore mourning,
but the earth chose colour.
Feet kept dancing,
voices kept rising,
life kept insisting on itself.
So yes—
the sky was grey,
but all was gay,
and that is all I can say:
sometimes joy does not wait
for permission from the heavens.
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