psycho-bubble

Words we don't always think.
Steve Thorp:- poet, therapist & beach-dweller.
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this morning the rain…

This morning the rain came again. It has been a constant companion this summer, like a friend who stays too long and behaves inappropriately. Now everyone just smiles. It is too late to have a summer of any significance, so we just accept that October will be here soon, with the familiar storms and sounds of the rain hammering on the skylight and wind moaning through the trees. Today sounds like this - only the heavy, heat feels like summer.

And then there is the settling. Of grief. And the sense of drowning in summer storms, of being split between seasons. Of lightness and joy versus heavy drip-dropping from the canopy. As a generation looks back and rises into a second helpless childhood, the other smiles and chuckles like the tinkled promise of light summer. 

This morning the rain is my love and my loss, and the world that once was heavy grey, is bright again. The shafts of light bounce from the white stone walls. The wind plays with the overgrown grasses like crowds of unruly children. For a moment, their mothers forget winter’s dying and their smiles light up the world.

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