The Sound of Rain

A memory, a storm, a return to self.

I saw the clouds come in
Slowly over the hills.

I sat and watched them consume
All that was bright and clear and sunny.

It didn’t come fast. The storm rolled in,
Like a ghost of past sins and unspoken sorrows.

When the clouds opened up—
Finally releasing all they had held—
It chilled the air, brought in winds,
And suddenly turned violent.

But the rain itself, falling like heavy weights finally unburdened,
Sounded like newness.
Awakened. Alive.

The steadiness of the rain,
And the smell of what words can’t fully capture,
Brought me back to childhood.
To happy times—
Listening to the rain hit my window,
Or shake the camping tent.

When the pain of loss and innocence was forgotten,
We made memories in the woods and forests,
To forget the darkness.
The shadows that only came at night.

A violence so unforgivable,
It was buried in shame and self-doubt.

The sound of rain drowns out
The sounds of uncertainty—
The inner voices that say
This place isn’t safe.

It can bring peace
Even during the thunder strikes and bolts
That shake the earth
With hopes to swallow you whole.

But today, I sit and listen to the rain—
Among the storm—
And know I’m safe.
At peace.

I’m at home.