I walked out of the door and into the soft drizzle. A melodic, spring-like rain in the middle of December. It should have been snow.
Making everything new in its wild, beautiful way – but instead, it was rain. And it fell on my face and it mixed with my tears and I hated the way that in that moment, the world around me reflected the world inside of me.
I heard one thing on that drive home, as my hands mirrored the wiper blades and pushed away the unwanted tears. ‘Don’t be afraid of the darkness,’ the Rain said to me. ‘Don’t be afraid of the tears and afraid of the rain. Just walk into them. Let them do what they were meant to do.’
I let the tears run free.
I walked slowly in the rain to my door.
And sadness, when it’s felt, and it isn’t tiptoed around and avoided – somehow becomes a lot less scary.
Somehow it becomes a little more gray than black,
a tattered heard that not’s destroyed but in need of a mending.
And even though it’s rain in the middle of December, and there’s no snow to make things beautiful and whole again – somehow the rain does its job, the one it was always meant to do.