Alien Ant Farm ♫ Attitude

The seasons must be women. Winter doesn’t want anything to live, refuses beauty and contradicts herself with snow and crystals the next morning. She must have loved someone and turned bitter. Seasons have a short lifespan so Spring says to herself, “I will be as beautiful as I can while I can.” She is the beauty everyone wants, but a short lived pinnacle. Autumn is a down-tempered winter. She is a wounded maiden. Leaves fall instead of water. There is no difference. Summer drags her feet and lets the heat do crazy things to youth. She is a tired mother. Making people work and sweat as she does.

It’s February and it’s warm outside. I feel spring yearning to free herself. Today felt like rain. But when I walked out the door I felt the most beautiful, most tender wind brushing my cheeks. Like God taking my face in his hands and saying everything was fine. So, I let it be. It’s funny how the weather can play with a person’s mind. Clouds change color and so do people.

In all honesty, though. I love rain. I don’t understand it and I love it. I don’t understand most things that I love actually. My family included. We just are. We exist together. We don’t coexist, we inter-exist. I don’t understand why most people don’t find the rain beautiful, just depressing. I find it powerful.

This balcony is my sanctuary. I folded my arms to rest them on the ledge before me. I let myself rest there, let go of everything, let the wind hold me and all my cares. I actually let myself rest and watched the ripples in the pond before me. It’s still maddening how much everything about my own neighborhood reminds me of you. It’s not right. This should be my place. And then I think, it is, because this is the only place I can actually relax. But then, that’s how it used to be with you too. I don’t know if I was ever able to fulfill the same role for you. But, it was hard for me to lose my comfort zone.

I remember when we climbed over the fence by the pond. It’s the little things that clear my mind. It’s the little things that fill it up again. The little ripples the wind makes make me feel like I’m in a different year. I remember when we tore down the ‘no trespassing sign’ and took the little boat for a spin. It’s supposed to be for show and there it is. Still. Even the ripples reminded me of you. Reminded me of the boat on water.

One breeze I can handle. One ripple is okay. So I think as I turn and make my way to the door. Then I remember summer and I remember us under the deck by the pool. I remember these things. I remember what you wore. I remember everything and I wonder does the wind touch you as deeply as it does me. Does it remove you from the setting and force you into the arms of summer?

Humans have instinct bound to nature. They must because otherwise the unreality of a raindrop on my arm is striking me as inevitable. I touch my face to make sure it’s not a tear. It’s not mine. But, it might as well be. It belongs to a new sky. One that I did not know with you. The world has turned and brought me a piece of the sky that understands me. It belongs to a sky heavy with anticipation and emotion. This is her release.

& Now I remember what I told you underneath and umbrella of rain, “Nothing can grow without release.”

(a revised oldie)