A hush drapes over the waking street,
Soft silver folds where sun and shadow meet.
The clouds drift low, like thoughts unspoken,
A sky of wool, heavy and broken.
No harsh light cuts the morning gray,
Just muted tones to start the day.
Trees stand still in whispered prayer,
Their leaves too quiet to stir the air.
A single crow calls through the mist,
A sound both lonely and softly kissed.
The rain may come, or pass us by—
The clouds don’t speak, they only sigh.
Yet in this calm, this quiet hue,
The world feels close, and strangely true.
A cloudy day, both soft and wise,
Wears mystery behind its skies.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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