The song of rain

You died in the spring. The day had started out warm and dry. The very minute that they pronounced you gone, the sky changed its mood to gray and a cold rain began to fall. I remember the chaplain made a comment about the sudden change of weather, I remember thinking the world is mourning your passing, the earthy realm like your family is crying for your loss. I had always loved the taste of rain, the smell of rain and the touch of rain. The first night that we made love the sound of the rain became our song, the snow white curtains danced above the bed, the lavender candle flickered and died, the rain became a symbol of who we were and who we were destined to be.  The rain with synonymous with us.
I started to heal in the summer.   The smell of newly mowed grass, and the way the earth smelled after being plowed for planting somehow filled me with a renewed sense of hope. I started to mimic your behavior I started to sit still, I started to listen. I started to comprehend the healing power of profound grief.  I started to heal in the summer. The minute that I started to let go of my grief, the earthy realm started to cry out of joy. The rain came and cleansed my soul. I once again love the taste of rain, the smell of rain and the touch of rain. The day I started to heal the rain played our song and reaffirmed who we were once were. The rain is synonymous with us. The rain has brought me home.
Me