Oil and Water

Mid- April 2003

In the desert, you hunger for rain.  It waters your soul.  The clouds are dark, lumbering giants that grumble with deep voices about their heavy load.  They give off a sort of twilight as they mix with the sunshine, like oil and water.  Altruistic crystal drops begin falling from the sky.   I hold my breath in awe at the sight, at the battle of light and dark in the heavens.  

When I was a little girl, I used to pray every day for sunshine.  If the day was gray, I would be too.  I didn't realize that rainy days weren't a personal slight.  It took me years to learn to love the rain.  But now, as I stand outside, letting the raindrops kiss my skin, I feel there is nothing more beautiful than a rainstorm. I breath it in.  I feel the beaded blades of grass under my bare feet as I twirl and watch my world spin.   I know now that darkness gives everything its value.  I am familiar with its bitterness bleeding across my tongue.  I am familiar with the dichotomy of my soul.

But for now, I live only in this moment.  There is no horizon, behind or in front of me, only the steel sky twisting above.  It is the first day of my freedom, after my first taste of college.  I have swam when I was afraid I might sink, and I feel intrepid.  The world is mine, reflected in a raindrop.