Weather Change: ‘can you hear the drums, fernando? I remember long ago another starry night like this’ – abba

It wasn’t the rain that I minded.  I could have walked in the rain forever and been completely happy.  It was everything that could happen after it’s rainbow had disappeared, but never was it the rain itself.

For now, the rain came pouring.  Finally, it was pouring, and I needed to focus on that.  For weeks, it was as if there were an occasional sprinkle or a light mist, but now it was pouring, and I was the one walking through it, soaked from head to toe, free from cares.  My hair had, in its wet state, plastered itself to my head, and I had been forced to remove my glasses so as to actually see in the night drench. Yet, with good vision or not, ten feet ahead of me saw nothing but large drops coming down from above, as if God himself had sent them crashing straight from heaven in one heap, like a needed punishment, or perhaps a reward.  It was a fitting night for such things, somewhere between the punishment or the reward and confusion about which it was.  I trudged on through the water, caught between worlds – the future and the past, occasionally wiping my face of the drops that could have just as easily been tears.  Though the only problem with being between worlds was the uncertainty of the next move.  These tears were cold, unstoppable, and not my own.

Still, I was okay in this moment.  The cold tears were a relief from warm ones cried earlier or possibly later, and the moment was any I could ask for – a free and open dance with falling stars, a world away from the tensions of the calm before the storm or the frigid cold after it.

As I stepped, I carelessly found myself skipping about, puddle after puddle with a splash following each time my foot set firmly into the ground.  My mind wondered with the drip-drops.  What changes could this weather bring?  Would it follow with a serious cold, the puddles freezing over and cracking with my harsh steps?  Would the sun now shine, like we’d waited so long for it to peak out behind those clouds that just lingered in gray?  A tinge of her rays could’ve warmed any soul willing to forget the clouds.

I don’t understand change, and I can’t stop it.  But, as I walk through it, and as I meet others, like me, who toil through cloudy and darkened days, I know that whatever the skies send my way or theirs, we’ll be able to walk through it, possibly together.  My thoughts were weathered with other storms, those that hadn’t come yet, but the rain’s presence was a comfort that whatever rain I stood in – raincoat or not – it was alright.  After all, it wasn’t the rain that I minded while I stepped in those puddles.

But that wasn’t important.  I had come through days of gray and mist, but they weren’t important, and I knew of days to come with storms, but they weren’t important either.  All that really mattered was the rain following right then, and it was drops falling hard that I could handle.  You take the weather as it comes, rain jacket or not.  This rain were a blessing because I made it so.  So too could be the forecast.


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