The rain of ourselves

Tear drop from the sky

Rain patters softly, gently, soaking tear drops into soil, watering that which crackles underfoot in late summer.  Gray moist clouds sniffle, laden with  burdens too heavy to carry another moment.  The vapor of themselves release in mist, in wetness, sometimes in drenching downpour.  Autumn’s asters reach up in surrender to soak in fluidity, to shimmer in glistening porous opening. 

Sleek black squirrels dart across open lawn, seemingly oblivious to wet muddy paws.  Rain drenches sparrow wings–how can you fly, my sweets? Aspen act as umbrellas for the understudy beneath.  The praying mantis can pray undisturbed, munching up the barely wet bark. 

Walk at your own peril on rainy days.  If you choose to wander through high grasses your jeans capture the tears of the sky like denim Kleenex.  Your tennis shoes squish; your toes feel icy and wet.  You’ll wish you’d traveled on the “path most known” instead of long grasses ripe with seed.  Death surrounds everywhere; brown ferns and wildflowers wither even with the rain which they dreamed about in mid-July.  Once they longed for wet; now they gracefully droop toward the earth dreaming of compost and seed. 

The trees shake themselves in the wind; leaves splatter green rain everywhere.  It’s wild in the rainy forest, a wildness which exhilarates instead of dampens, which deepens instead of snuffs the fire within. 

Here’s what you do.  See that stream darting through the woods?  Wander down and kneel by its bank.  Don’t worry about getting wetter; you’ll shed those jeans and shoes upon opening your door.  Kneel and cup the water in your open palms.  Watch the droplets from the sky meet the droplets from the stream.  Wash your face in the cold water; surrender to it, allow water to meet that which hurts, that which stains, that which belongs to soil and bark.

Say a prayer of gratitude that the clouds haven’t forgotten to release themselves; that they continue to purify.  Release what you need no longer hold.  Open yourself to the spirit of the rain and let any sorrow release.  Allow the joy to pool into tears, surrendering past the sentinels of eye lashes. Sing your own raindrop song, letting go, letting go, of all that the earth desires to embrace in eternal moistness.


10 thoughts on “The rain of ourselves

  1. “Gray moist clouds sniffle, laden with burdens too heavy to carry another moment.”

    “If you choose to wander through high grasses your jeans capture the tears of the sky like denim Kleenex.”

    “Allow the joy to pool into tears, surrendering past the sentinels of eye lashes.”

    A lovely gift for me to read this afternoon. Thank you, Kathy.

    • The singing of raindrops echoes in our soul, like droplets falling in a waterfall of rhythm and resonance. Thank you for not being afraid to get wet, Colleen.

  2. A lovely picture of the delicate teardrop from the sky. I found myself relaxing as I read your prose, picturing the asters, squirrels, trees, the stream, the changing seasons embraced in eternal moisture from the clouds. Beautiful.

    • It is raining again this morning, Barbara. Watching the drops scurry from the sky, falling down, down, down into the autumn scruff of dying ferns. Blessings to you this wet & beautiful day! (Is it raining where you are in the East?)

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