Already in bed.
Dozing and texting.
Surrendering to the end of this today.
*clink*
No mind.
*clap*
Wait.
*crash*
It’s here.
Out of bed and through the door. Sleep didn’t matter and tomorrow could wait.
The first rain was knocking, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
It crashes over everything with a ready-or-not attitude, existing to touch and be felt and to change and move and pour over every inch it can reach, urging things clean and to grow and toward what is to come.
Rain, you see, in a word and in every way, is joy.
God did me a kindness when He brought me to an apartment with a back porch. Sitting feet-tucked-up, too-cold-to-move, silent-for-fear-of-missing-a-drop is the best way I know how to appreciate in genuine awe the first rain of the year.
Ripples in puddles that only just exist. Wind turns visible, showing it’s true nature is not to bite. And, oh, in a way that is past understanding, no sound falls sweeter than rain’s orchestrated cacophony of a voice
Calling me to remember the truth that, to me, it is joy.
