Living in the Cold

The littlest tiny drops are falling from the sky. Each freezing drop bites the skin. Water melts its way into every fiber of cloth and strand of hair. Cold pushes through the skin, nesting in the marrow of the bone. Soaked to the bone indeed.

The frail human body despises this feeling. It shakes and clatters, hoping for the spark of friction to heat the weary traveler. People run for cover once the gray clouds roll in. Those who must venture out wrap themselves up in all sorts of warm protective layers.

But not this one.

No coat, no scarf, no umbrella. Just bare necessitates.

This cold rain from heaven is welcomed for this feeling it inspires. Not a feeling of misery or cold or pain. A feeling of life. Each drop washes away that past flesh. The bite of the cold is a birthing cry. Rain drops roll down the skin, awakening every sense.

So cry now, my child. Cry with the heavens. No one will see the tears in the rain. They melt away with the river. Weep for the loss of an old life. Mourn the passing of the past. Let it all wash away.

The storm needs thunder. This storm needs lightening. There should be more than a dark sky.

You come out of the storm a new, stepping out of the puddles. Like the phoenix risen out of the ashes.

Some are born of fire, others water. (C)