21

The inhale…

Rich with the minerals and lineage of the earth, the light pitter patter of precipitation hit my poor umbrella with the rhythm of an ancient downpour

The light hum of droplets crashing into the pavement flow into my eardrums and whisper sweet nothings to put my mind at ease
Streams of water collect at my feet, assembling a small reflection of my reality too clear to be real
In this very moment I am connected with the air
Feeling every passing bead flow through me, each with its own purpose, its own secrets, its own lies…
The heavens from which the showers were granted passage paint grey everywhere it can reach, stretching as far and wide as space itself…
The clouds fold, bubble, rip, slide, flow, roll, all in unison across the generous sky…
Moisture seeps down my full cheeks, onto my protruding cold chin, and off my face, washing away anguish as I gaze at the masterpiece above me…
The scene is plain and simple to a brain numbed by life, but to an admirable eye, this is the meaning of life itself…