An autumn rain

I am standing at the front door watching the rain.  The cold wind bites at my face and I should close the door.  I don't.  I watch.  The grey clouds move from west to east; the sun obscured.  Everything is cold. Every thing is wet.  Water puddles along the curbside where dirt and debris has gathered.  It is a dismal sight.  It makes me long for sunnier days like the ones from my memories as a child on a small hobby farm.  When the summer days and the autumn nights were spent making my own fun in the woods, along the lane, in the rock piles at the back of the pasture.  Memories that will never be again.  I close the door and sit on my couch.

I am standing at the front door watching the rain.  The cold wind invigorates a face too warm from being indoors too much.  I should close the door.  I don't.  I watch.  The grey clouds race across the sky as a visual witness to the storm raging above.  Everything is cleaned.  Everything is washed.  Water flows from the streets into the gutters racing toward the drains; overflowing the puddles forming at the curbside along.  The sun may be obscured behind the grey clouds but I know it is there and is powerful enough to bring light to a glorious day. Everything is renewed. It makes me think of my own struggles to be renewed, to be cleansed and reborn. Of memories yet to come if only I am brave enough to reach out for it.

Two outlooks.  One rainstorm.

I close the door.  And I sit on my front step, soaking to the bone and become chilled.  I know I will be warm again, but for now, it is my cleansing.