The cloudy night let through a river of starlit sky, as if the heavens had cracked open the storm.
Nights of cloud could tuck me in as sure as a babe into softest quilt, for in the cooler weather were days of hearth and harkened heart.
The cloudy night is a million promise-notes of heaven's rain, each of them in graphite grey and etched upon the sky.
As we are tucked into the heavenly black to dream each night anew, the cloudy grey makes nighttime all the cosier still.
The cloudy night softens the vibrant colours of day to soft pastel hues, the kind that awaken the soul and let it stay in serene comfort.
The road is midnight under the cloud, yet beyond is the dawn. As the sun sets, its rising is already promised to the land, to the green shoots who wait in faith. And so, even though our eyes may only see one step at a time, we stride on, eyes wide. For when this passes we will be as children, giggling at the imagined monsters that once kept us in such fear.
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