The Sky is low – the Clouds are mean.
A Travelling Flake of Snow
Across a Barn or through a Rut
Debates if it will go-
A Narrow Wind complains all Day
How some one treated him
Nature, like Us is sometimes caught
Without her Diadem.
Final Harvest, Emily Dickinson. 414 (1075) page 241.
Gavin, smile at that Narrow Wind. You’ll see him often and it should never ruin your mind. And though clouds truly can be mean let the debates take place and observe- Nature is not against you.
And if you’re able to catch the snow flake, do. Smile and let the rest wonder.