It's warm out, and I feel the drops slowly begin to tickle my skin. Small soft kisses from above.
The sky darkens and a slow, ominous rumble subtly shakes the ground.
There is healing in rain.
I don't know why, but it is a beautiful thing.
I love walking out into a storm.
It can be so violent, so dark.
The torrential sheets of rain soak me through and through. Once sweet kisses of life, the droplets now become stingers, pricking my arms and legs.
I close my eyes and look up to the heavens above.
I let it pelt my face.
Behind closed eyelids I can see sporadic flashes.
So powerful. Potentially blinding.
I spread my arms and take it all in. My bare feet squish into the mud.
The storms take that which was thought to be solid ground, and causes it to transform.
It is no longer stable, my footing is no longer sure.
I hear another crack of thunder, the sheer power of it rumbles into my eardrums, and rattles my insides.
I love being here. In the chaos.
Mother nature, so troubled. So distraught.
Lashing out in light and sound, and giving new birth and healing all who live under the sky.
The downpour subsides, I put down my arms and slowly open my eyes.
What I see brings me inescapable joy, for through the clouds I see streaks of sunlight.
It is a brand new horizon, ripping apart the darkness, replacing it with brilliant hues.
Rosy pinks, vibrant yellows, oranges as deep as the ocean.
All mix together in a splendorous pallet of color.
It is as if an angry artist, in a fit of rage has thrown all his paints at the canvas and has created, in the process, a masterpiece.
Because, in life, storms are unavoidable.
We often get lost in the rain and the black of night.
Yet with each new storm, there is always a dawn.
A new horizon is created.
There is always a tomorrow which trails after the opportunity that died today.
There is healing in the rain.