Don’t you care what people say…
You can leave your thoughts at the door.
The raindrops fall in a single line on the floor.
So, finish chasing rainboys after the storm.
Keep looking to the clouds
They’ll tell you how hard it will pour
On your perfect face and down your neck bones.
No rain shower is like the next
And you keep looking forward to variety
But remember that each rain is…
Similarly composed of something watery.
Let the wind take you and engulf you in its feathery kiss. Let the sun extract out of you the pieces of your souls that need to evaporate. Watch the rain cool your eyes with its mist as you learn to value the earth below you. Let the earth hold you and let you take root. It is in the letting go that you are so lovingly held.
There grew parts of us that no longer fit like they used to. Every other word a torrential downpour crushing, inundating the ground beneath our feet. Between our bodies opened a gash due to the pouring rain softening our foundation until we slowly drifted away. The rains grew heavier as our hands outstretched and we gave in under the weight. I guess… Our passion, once a flame, has now been doused away.
A flower blossomed, ravenous for the raindrops to adorn her silky petals with their glittery reflections and pressured touches. Petals perfectly cupped, the rain accepted pleasantly into them slowly dripping down like sweet honey into parched earth. Blooms thirst for that which falls from the heavens fatefully caught by sturdy, yet gentle petals.
May the wind hold me for I am feeling quite tired. Perhaps it will carry me home into the grove filled with flowers and lay me down to sleep for a while. I have opened my chest and have let its contents spill out with sharp red rubies hoping that only good will come about.
May the sun come and dry away the cool rains that have woken me up from this charade.
It was an Iowa spring that made me love sunrises and cloudy days. It was in the coolness of raindrops that fell upon my face and in the freshness of petrichor in the air that I awoke spiritually.
It is in the last falling drop of rain that I remember the reasons between transitions. The last few molecules are the ones that mix between the coolness of the water and the warmth of the sun finally starting to peek through the clouds. It is those dissipating pieces of fluff that connect you to the world above and that one below all within the layers of the atmosphere—so think…which route will you take?
Many of these moments are combined with tantalizing thoughts of what is and what has been, thoughts of what will be quietly hidden away in the breaths that I take. I find myself waiting for a lightning strike to shake me into action. I find myself seeking out fast-moving clouds in a late morning sky where all that you see is gray and movement even though you know the sun should have been visible by now. It is I who waits like the hydrated ground while the raindrops falling from the leaves gently pummel my surface like a persistent knock at my door—the truth is waiting to get in.