The Storm

Sad movies use rain as a mask for sorrow— a reflection of loss. But when I look into the rain and open my arms to the wind, I feel such power and love. Like I could close my eyes, and my feet would slowly lift from the ground. The people at the beach scurry toward the parking lot, but I stare into the lake and the crashing waves of a storm. The eye of the storm stares back at me. Its lightening laughs a thunderous groan that tickles my heart. I want to fly like the kite, fluttering to escape. Though instead of escape, I want to revel. For when the tide washes my feet, my path will reveal my weathered soles. As the thunder rolls. And I’ll bask at the beach which my tale would be told. As the tides fold at the shore, and I soar with the storm.