Clouds, by Heather Robinson

In the stone church, she glanced towards the tall windows where bright milky clouds floated by. But these billowy wafts did not bring her peace but rather a heaviness in her breast. And, as the pastor spoke fervently about charity, she stopped listening. All she could feel was the loss, the loss of the man, the only one she had truly loved. He would never again see those puffs of purity scudding across the sky. Nor would he see their children playing, tumbling, and giggling on the lawn below them. He would not witness her tears falling unhindered from her lids as she pinned their matrimonial sheet to the line and searched the white wisps for some acknowledgment, some reassurance. And then, then, through the stained-glass window, she saw the sky change. The wind rose, a gray pall swiftly crossed the sky, and she heard it, a spring rain, unexpected, gentle, soothing to her soul. Yes, she thought, yes. You are still here.