Tim White.
They say the sky is blue, and who am I to doubt them? They say it’s blue, but I ain’t seen nothing but flat grey for days. For weeks. For so long I don’t remember anything else. They say it’s mostly cloudy, that’s the way the folks who stand up in front of maps and point and say how cold it’s going to be, that’s the way they describe it. But I know it’s cold without anybody telling me anything and I don’t see no clouds. There ain’t no shape to the sky, just that grey that’s so flat it looks fake. It stays grey all day until it turns black and at night I don’t see no stars, neither. Just black. Grey and black and nothing. That’s what I see when I look up.
They say there’s a sun up there in the sky, and I ain’t one to doubt, but I ain’t seen it in so long I don’t remember. There’s light in the daytime, and it must come from somewhere. It must be from the sun. But the sun is warm and the light is so cold by the time it gets to me that it’s nearly frozen. Maybe it’s because it has to fight its way through that mean sky. Maybe that’s what makes the snow. Maybe the snow is frozen sunlight that got sad and tired of fighting so it breaks into pieces and falls and falls.
They say the sky is blue and they say there’s a sun and I will keep believing it, even if there ain’t a reason in the world for me to. I’ll keep turning my face up to it all and let the frozen light land on my cheeks and think about how they say it’ll be warm again like it used to be, but it ain’t been warm in so long, so long. I don’t remember. But they say and they say. And I ain’t one to doubt.
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