The Rain

As I sit at my desk on this slow afternoon, nature is reminding me that I move too quickly. It calls to me to slow myself down and experience what she can show me. The distant sound of thunder echoes softly through the office, and the impending weather has my coworkers rushing from the building, with cries of open windows on their lips. But I sit, awestruck, staring out the window as the leaves turn in towards the trees and the birds in the gully take shelter closer to the ground.

The sky has turned a dismal, intimidating gray and bolts of lightning jet across the sky. Any moment, a tear will rip across the skies and the rains will pour forth, rhythmically pulsing against the glass wall behind which I make my living. Steady rivulets will wash over the world outside, coursing first a pale yellow and then a crisp, cool clear as the dirt and dust and pollen breaks free and flows away.

From the safety of my desk, I'll hunger for the feel of the droplets on my skin, painting streaks on my face and splotches on my arms as I stand with my face turned towards the skies. I'll close my eyes and let the pulse of the thunder wash over me in waves, slowing my heart to match its steady pace. Faster and harder the rains will come, a simultaneous burst of emotion that echoes the power and anger, rapture and fear that I bottle inside me so systematically. The crack of the thunder will break their compartments, and sensations will radiate from my core to the tips of my fingers and pads of my feet. Even as they bubble forth, however, my soul will not reflect the power or the anger, the rapture or the fear that draws so close to explosion from my every pore. The falling rain washes away each passing moment, leaving me instead with nothing but peace.

But just as suddenly, the skies will clear and the sun will shine again. The rains will cease and the thunder will fade into oblivion. It is then - only then - that the world... and my soul... Will feel free and clean once again.