“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds
I climbed up to the parking garage just in time to see the sunset, streaks of orange and pink in the sky like banners of hope, light, love. The hazy purple coloured the world all around, like a soft familiar blanket touched with the glow of street-lamps beginning to lazily illuminate the city. And I breathed deep and slow, filled my lungs with as much as they possibly could hold, and tried to let it all go. It has been a hard semester. I felt as if I had been running uphill for awhile and that I hadn’t been able to stop and breathe. And then a heavy-trodden path of sadness became a part of my life for a few weeks. I couldn’t let the sadness go somehow. I didn’t know why. It was stuck inside of me, colouring my world one dark gray headache at a time. But finally, today, I felt it go away.
Food has started to taste good again. And I don’t have to stop every few blocks on my runs to collect myself. I smiled at a group of kids playing at the park today, and the smile didn’t hurt. I know that life is beautiful and oh-so-short. I want to make the most of every moment, to hold the good days and to never forget them. How wonderful to be a part of something greater than me, to be a member of a community that loves and cares so deeply for one another, to see my friends and peers come together in grieving, in healing, in honouring a lost one. This journey continues on, and I know that soon, it will be alright again.
There is nothing quite like it. The smell of rain outside. The earthy dampness, the melancholy, the touch of bittersweet tinted with suspense. There is thrill and silent splendor to the moment right before a storm. The wind of anticipation, and the dark gray sky streaked with white and indigo, pierced suddenly with shocking flashes of light and the disgruntled rumble of thunder. This is when the soul is on edge, swept up in the power of nature and yet at peace with the beauty of the storm; this is both the expected and the unexpected sequence of events. The darkening sky, the beginning touches of rain dotting the sidewalk, and then the sudden release; it comes in torrents of water, in sheets of pelting drops – no space to breathe between. The build-up of the storm, so organic, predictable, natural; the rain coming down, a freedom unforeseen. Finally, the tension is gone, escaped from the shoulders of the clouds above. Breath and grandeur in the golden light, the pale blue sliver of the sky beneath, a promise. There’s so much beauty in the rain. There’s so much hope to come again.