Walking in the forest in the morning I find a seat
high enough to gaze down on the red rooftops and the grey ocean.
Close my eyes from top to bottom.
The percussion of the rain. Pitter-patter. Tic-tac. Splash.
Speaking to me with gentle taps, "Are you awake?" it says.
A cold trickle down the back of my neck, a stark opposition to my stillness.
The medium for the rain.
I feel it underneath my nose.
Whoosh. Whip. Whorl. A cold breeze. A warm lull.
Inviting me to breathe it- to live.
A sound behind me.
Is there someone there?
I am not afraid.
Whoever you are, come and sit with me.
It is not my seat, it is ours.
Walking home there is so much more for my eyes.
A rich vibrant matrix of colour. It widens me.
For my nose, the smells of cedar, smoke, the neighbors dog, the writhing earth underneath the ceaseless pelting of the sky.
There is something else in my step,
there is everything.
(by Lydia... have an amazing day...)