Breaking clouds

The dark clouds hung over us as we left the house. They chased us along the road. In the cafe they haunted us still, while we sheltered waiting for sustenance. A silence hung in the place, like a wake, everyone waiting. As the food arrived, the clouds broke, sunlight flowed across the tables, conversation sparked. Contentment softly landed.

 

The air has some place she needs to be, she is so late that she is clumsily knocking over fences and spilling debris, perhaps she should have left earlier.

 

Back when I was a seven year old at school, there was a nook in the hedgerow that surrounded the playing field, a sheltered place of comfort away from the stress of interaction. One time after the school day had ended, I retreated there. I was joined by a girl. I had never seen her before, yet I felt comfortable with her. I do not remember what she said, yet I remember the comfort. I never saw her again. I sometimes wonder if she was real.

 

Same blood they say, under the different colour of skin, same bones and same brains.
Yet, I see this as a perverse route to acceptance, to pacify the fearful, make them see everyone as the same. Surely we must love our neighbours differences. Difference is not to be feared. Our default should be love.

 

The demons change, there will always be demons
watch them vaporise, while the flowers bloom
on another day another demon will come
we will continue to be reborn