Sunday Storm

Gathering wind, a smattering of rain, fierce elemental forces seeking entrance. Shaking the windows, rushing past the door, taking control of the pines and the aspens, sturdy fences shuttering.

My soul awakens.

The wind dashes against me as I step out onto the back porch. I feel the raw tingle of rain against my face and am drawn to watch the nodding pine tree as a dozen little aspens quake, their leaves dancing about, above the old garage.

The windows wink at me through the broken glass and the blue tarp that my father has tied on the front is drawn and dashed by the wind.

I walk against the elements, appreciating the smell of the rain, as well as the scent of wet cedar wood and pavement, co-mingling, a subtle mixture that reminds me of my parents home.

Puddles gather in the cracked pavement, the grass of the lawn a darker wet green. Worms make there way up to escape their muddy prisons, I avoid them as I step and hear the bird seed crunching beneath my feet.

I feel the fellowship of the earths spirit, speaking to my own as I walk through the storm, a fitting backdrop for tumultuous feelings. I gaze fearless about me, somehow finding my mind to be clearer, my determination more sure.

Storms come, life is like a storm. Things that seemed sturdy can be shaken and tossed, sometimes shattered. Yet the earth and I have one great goal, renewal and regrowth.

A wiping away of the old and the ugly, sewing new seeds, seeds of beauty.