i'm laying in my bed in the middle of the afternoon comforted by the sounds of the first good rain storm of this summer blowing outside my window. as usual am late to somewhere and haven't even started getting ready and even that knowledge isn't motivating me to seperate from this little haven of rest i've found just inside the window from the storm. i find my position in life this afternoon to be both literal and figurative.
clouds have rolled off the mountains and out onto the plains now for weeks withouth turning a good storm, my thoughts have tickled the edge of depth in my heart without forming sentances for longer than I care to recall. I've been stuck in the thick air of humidity that won't turn to rain in the way that i've been wanting to tell someone, anyone, how i've been feeling but finding myself without outlet or without words and sometimes just without time to go looking.
I am, as of yet, unreleased. So in that I find myself jealous of the clouds who's humid tension has now found the sweet release of rain. There have been moments with salty rain drops have gathered at the edge of my mascara, but they are nothing compared to the sweet release of summer rain, complete with lightening flashes and rumbling thunder, which i so desperately want. Release, I do not have.
I should make tea, clear a space on the couch underneath the window and write another chapter to the book I started two years ago. I should cry, write another love song and stand outside until i'm wet enough not to know if i'm crying or just enjoying the rain.
But I have somewhere to be, and i'm late. Sounds like the rain is dying down anyhow, maybe next time.
