Smoke Box and Union Musings

I am moved to present the theory that the weather knows it is Friday,

or at least that a chapter of existence is coming to a close. 

Possibly it is an accommodation of sorts,

a send-off into the coming weekend. 

After a dreary couple of days 

With overcast skies 

and wet grounds

and sidewalks soaked through,

today presents a certain reprieve. 

The sun shines

and people smile 

and the air itself is alive 

with various activities 

of mortal and immortal happenstance.

The beauty of existence begs to be acknowledged, and I,

With a heady mix of reluctance, resignation, and immense reverence, answer its plea. 

Shedding the dark, twisted mental deficiencies I typically carry,

I find a path upon which to walk--a stark contrast to the convoluted muck
through which I've religiously learned to trudge.  

Calling back to the concept of a send-off by nature, 

and with the application of an apt cliche--

"With every ending comes a new beginning."

I can hardly believe this optimistic drivel that I am spewing, 

But it is all I am capable of producing at the present. 

I am want to say that my current disposition is primarily circumstantial, 

however I have a solution to that. At the very least, I've a proposition.  

Though the positivity of this statement toes the line between poetry and vulgarity here it is:  

If I can somehow internalize the literal sunshine 
into a figurative indwelling of "light" and "warmth" 

it may be possible to weather each day in accordance with a steadfast tranquility,

rather than that of transient storms.