Passing

Atmospheric pressure drop

a melancholy lays like a heavy fog

shrouding, almost a comfort of familiar feeling.

Wind turning leaves. Rain, dark cloud, lightning, rolling  thunder.

Look up to witness the light.

Look to the hills.

Look up and out of thyself.

The storm passes. The emptiness subsides. The cisterns full again.

Melancholy cannot linger eternally when knowing the tempest passes, when looking up at the light, at the glory.

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