I am imagining the sound of the rain. I wonder as I stare out at the heavy sky if it will pour out or drizzle. I wonder how I would have it be, which I would prefer; the soft caress of the tiny water droplets or the drenching that comes with the giant droplets that are unavoidable. The grey clouds in their different shades stun me all the time as I sit and marvel at how Mother Nature today seems to be attuned to my being. The weather reflecting my mood. This is the time when I feel it is okay to cry and roll up into a ball to revel in the misery, the smell of it and the slight chill all conducive to the sordid ritual. Today with the oncoming rain, I think of our end.
There was such possibility and wonder in that darkness that was mine alone. Much like I wonder how the rain will fall. I marvel at the shades of grey, often doing more dreaming than being in the actual moment. We were always storm clouds, always destined to fall. At first I saw us as a light drizzle before winter began; refreshing and magical. Then sometimes it rained in buckets and drenched me whole leaving me in shivers and bed ridden. At times it was the slow steady constant flow that could rain for days and I wanted it to last forever.
As I stare at the forming clouds outside my lone window I wonder if maybe, just maybe from another angle there are patches of blue visible. That there is an invisible wind blowing from the east or the west to come and take the clouds away. Maybe this heavy cloud is just above my head like the proverbial darkness that follows the unlucky and then I sigh because either way it does not matter. I have always loved this rain.
I am instantly saddened at the thought of its end before it even begins. I hate that when it ends my entire world will be left wet and unpleasant. Outside, the clouds begin to drizzle. After a while I see patches of sky strewn with wispy cirrus clouds that are grey blue in color as if knowing to ease me out from my momentary watery swoon. Somewhere the sun shines and the light begins to penetrate through to my private landscape. Soon the light dominates and the blue of the sky improves. Rays of sun dance across my desk as the trees outside my window sway in the breeze.
I think of you still even in the new light that reigns again over my patch of sky beyond my lone window. The clouds that emanate from within my person still very much intact and raining. I could not forego the sadness or the joy that it all brings me. Such a great interpretation of the feeling and the nature of it all. Me ascribing meaning to weather so as to explain for myself and to regulate my own internal development. Everything symbolic. That sometimes things begin and then they end. They may leave us changed for a time or for as long as we exist. Learning thus to find peace in the fact that it was all not pointless and reminding me that it all only lasts for a time. That I should be grateful of the climate in which I live where I can bear witness to this change and observe this truth for myself.