Rolling clouds of gray and black covered the land for as far as the eye could see. It had been this way for months and did not show any signs of stopping. I was beginning to believe that it would always be this way. I wake to the sleep-inducing sound of rain hitting the leaves and tree limbs that danced in front of my window. Forced to go out into the midst of something that does little more than inconvenience me with wet shoes and soaked clothes. On my return home, I see my bedroom window through the deafening sounds of thrashing rain. I think of sleep and how I will get to take off my socks from saturated feet and heat them beside a lamp as I warm back to life. How long has this been my dream? To go back inside and to curl into the warmth of something that truly isn’t mine. Perhaps it’s a part of me just as much as I want it to be.
I awake in the night and listen to the rain. From light to heavy, windy then calm, if I pay close attention, I find lyrics to the rain song. I could never speak the intimate words that it speaks to me. I can only listen and acknowledge that I am being spoken to. Speaking of such beauty is far beyond me, and I am a visitor in a strange land.