White Sky

Sometimes when the sky is white,

I write the words that come to mind

Upon its page.

So blank and free,

It calls to me,

To do and to say

Whatever may tickle my fancy.

And sometimes, very suddenly, 

The blue returns

To spurn me,

To tell me that reality has no such space available to create it,

And how could I even think such a thing!

Much less take up a pen and ink

And pollute the sky

With wild imaginations!

But nevermind!

The nebulous chiding that seems

To rain so chilly from the clouds

Down onto your parade

Is all a part of the charade.

It’s a part of your imagination, too,

And your dreams.

So just keep writing!

Keep writing it all down,

No matter what,

On whatever kind of paper you can find!

A handy scrap, a napkin, a receipt, even the bottom of your shoe,

Any old tabula rasa in a storm will do,

Especially a white sky,

And especially when you’re dreaming.

-jenn