(no subject)
There is something so powerful about walking in the rain--feeling the moisture creep into my shoes and chill me to the bone-- allowing the ashen sky to release its burden...
People around me bow to the stinging needles falling from above. They run, hidden beneath newspapers and umbrellas, one blending into the other as they form a river of refuge-- a river of submission.
The raindrops assault my face and head, but I do not flinch. There is beauty in fortitiude, and as the water drips off the ends of my hair, I turn my face heavenward.
I will no longer cower from the rain
I will no longer break in the face of blows
I will not shy away from burdens.
I am not clay that melts and runs, forms divets, submits to the will of the water. I am a sunflower, raising her heavy head to meet the rain along with the sun.
People around me bow to the stinging needles falling from above. They run, hidden beneath newspapers and umbrellas, one blending into the other as they form a river of refuge-- a river of submission.
The raindrops assault my face and head, but I do not flinch. There is beauty in fortitiude, and as the water drips off the ends of my hair, I turn my face heavenward.
I will no longer cower from the rain
I will no longer break in the face of blows
I will not shy away from burdens.
I am not clay that melts and runs, forms divets, submits to the will of the water. I am a sunflower, raising her heavy head to meet the rain along with the sun.