Freed

Time chips away as my windowpane wicks January drizzles onto my shutters. I haven’t always enjoyed the rain the way I should. I wonder if the drops mind where they land. If they could know that they’ll find the comfort of the homely ocean bed or the crushed catharsis of concrete pangs. 
Yet the drops fall.
Unabashed. 
Unashamed. 
They fall because they must. They fall because they’ve surrendered. 
They fall because it’s freedom realized. 
To fall. 
To accept. 
To be. 
I see now that I didn’t appreciate the rain because it reminded me of all that I must forgive. All that I must release. All that I must surrender to. And all that I’ve been hiding. Healing isn’t a serene summer daze. It is in between a hellish never ending night and a childlike wonder unleashed at dawn. The rain isn’t afraid of the greys that fall in between. It revels in its own thunderous cry and doesn’t mutter. Its clouds sweep past us for a short time yet its sky feels it all. The elements hold space for one another. The morning dew reminds me to do the same for me too.