It is true, they block the light of Sun,
yet open doors to grays and blacks and
wondrous fleecy white, fluid in their shape,
flowing mist within the sky.
You would never grow without shadow work,
Looking deeply into your own jagged edges,
Never neat or tidy, unpredictable as weather,
Bringing pain instead of rain, perhaps a dash of shame,
Breaks you open for the deeper breakthrough,
Thunders through resounding down to heart and Earth.