Poetry, Prose and Musing of a Crone

Dancing in the Rain The earth is dry and dusty. The ground is hard and unyeilding. Plants wilt and the trees are begging for water. Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon and there is a promise of rain. Suddenly the clouds crack open and out falls the sweet-smelling water, the rain. I run outside and stand in the middle of the yard, arms stretched upward, face turned toward the sky. The rain cleanses me, falling gently, washing over me. Washing away the sadness, the stagnation. I am drenched with water. My clothes stick to my body and my hair clings to my face and I begin to dance. I dance to the rhythm of the rain. I twirl round and round, spinning, and laughing. I allow the water to wash over me. The ground beneath my feet begins to soften as I keep spinning and dancing. I begin to sing. I sing to the element of water in all its many forms. Solid; ice and glaciers, liquid; the moving waters of the waterfalls, the streams, the rivers, the seas, the oceans. I sing to the still waters of the ponds, the puddles, and the lakes. I sing to the gaseous forms of the clouds, fog, steam, and the mist. I sing and dance to the waters of my body, the sweat, and the salty tears. I am laughing, I am releasing; all hurt, all pain, all stagnation. The rain washes over me and sets me free.