At times.

In the recesses of the mind
there are places I travel
that are sometimes heavy and blue-grey.

It is not for lack of joy or contentment.
I have no hidden darkness or
mourning heart.

Only ever so often it comes in like a fog,
making it difficult to remember the sun.

I am not speaking of the bleakness of depression
or unending nights of hopelessness.
These are real battles and not to be treated lightly by anyone.

I refer simply to that weight that comes from seeking...
from being a glimpse catcher.
Whether it's words or notes or paint strokes,
the discipline of artistry has many price tags.

One of them being a melancholy mist every now and again.

We are taught from childhood to continuously fight the elements.
Put on a coat.
Wear a hat.
Bring an umbrella.

But these times of weary weather have their outcomes.
So I find it best to just let it pass. Wear a sweater.
And bring a pen.