The rain will come and the rain will pour. It will trickle down like mass destruction or it will fall slowly from the sky, hitting the ground patiently with a tiny thud onto cold pavement or withered grass. It brings life to the dryness of the earth, to the dryness of my soul.

     When it rains the rain brings health to the sickly undernourished weeds in the ground. They grow bigger as they absorb each and every drop, as they absorb slowly into my beating heart.

     The beauty of the world is everywhere, on front doorsteps with shiny welcome mats, the sounds of little children laughing in the summer with their dripping ice cream cones, a small puppy who wags its tail impatiently, a dove soaring high in the sky, and simply the rain when each drop falling fast from the sky washes away my cold tears.

     The gentle sounds of loud whisperers consume my ears as I listen to the rain. I listen to the rain when it hits the rooftop of my home, on my square covered front porch, in my car with the windows rolled down, on a walk laughing with a friend. More than I listen to the rain; I feel the intense magic of the rain.

     Rain rhymes with pain, and this isn’t a coincidence, to me. Pain is a part of life, a part of healing, a part of renewal, and a part of learning. When it rains it restores new found life and excitement to my ever lost soul. I am a patient waiter of the rain, but I was not always this way.

     There have been times, mainly in my youthful days where I longed for it to only rain. I did not like the harsh cruelty of pain, but then, I was naïve and I did not know of the immense powers reality can bring. For every bitter moment there is magic. Maybe I had a few too many dry summers, but then when it finally rained, it appeared it would never stop, and so a smile would appear surrounded by rushing waterfalls from the sky.

     Water cleanses the earth, it makes flowers grow, and vegetables, too. The earth soaks it up, into its very soil, into my calm mind, I grow, too.

     Like waves that can roar high one way and then another, I can too. I am capable of drifting into a cloud of sunshine and happiness or I can be a puff in the sky consumed with only darkness. But what I love most is when I am gray, neither too much joy nor too much pain, just simply enjoying the moments. The gray clouds bring rain into my life, and I am released, free at last, free again.

     When it rains, I must, have to, go out into it. I step outside and I am overwhelmed with glory, with a light of hope. I smile, because I am more than happy, I am ecstatic, breathless, and I feel only good. I reach my hands up into the sky. I stretch until I know they will go no farther, and I feel the raindrops hit my skin one at a time, or sometimes all at once, pouring, or only slowly dripping down like honey oozing out of it’s too low jar. I close my eyes and I soak it in, literally.

     After it rains there is a new smell in the air, it is a smell of beauty, of truth, of loss, of clarity, it is a moment of realization. All things can be restored, renewed, nothing is lost for always.

  I am a believer in all things true, and the rain is so unbelievably true.

      Rain, rain, you will always wash away my pain.