Cloudy Skies with a Chance of Healing

With the promising scent of petrichor,
The clouds start to gather, 

The winds pick up, 

and the rain begins to fall.

I quietly walk into the swelling chorus of wind and rain, 

While others run for cover.

I tilt my chin up as thunder rumbles in the distance, 

And the storm crawls closer in the sky. 

I let the rain that falls from high up above wash the roughness from my face away, along with the troubles of my yesterdays.

I receive the wind weaving between my fingers like the hands of an old friend, as the wind enforces the breath in my lungs.

Too alive to feel cold, imbued with the knowledge of the storms I have survived,

I stand in the rain.

And down my face washes away the troubles of my yesterdays.

As the rain ceases, a fleece of clouds glow around the sun, 

I take in the gentle scent of petrichor, that I oh so adore.

And from this solace is a promise that I'm free to start again.