Rain Is A Place That Weeps
Magic found in the wonder with solitude
I’m not sure why some days have the tones of solemn, so serious, there’s a distinct clear flatness.
It is as if our dream world has followed us into the now where breathing gets caught in the inhale.
I imagine, if I were in the woods the trees would be arched that of a temple.
If I were along the coast the waves would accentuate this felt curvature.
Yet, I am with the rains.
Small particles of glass that fall from a forever place that needs to weep with the earth; a sound of be gentle and find softness to fill the spaces that suffer.
And to welcome what is and befriend this side of self that visits inside the thicket of your solitudes and sorrows.
