On a cold summer day the rain clouds hang low, my head tugged away, chin up, the mingling drops softening the strained muscles around my face, labored from holding on too tight, too long. I wonder if the constant proceed of water flowing over me ultimately unites us.

The rain and I become solely one, undivided – a flurry of the past, hushed by fading memories. A sprinkle of dust on the befallen stories, no more than a drop gliding along a crease, a lonesome branch of life. A sudden shower, just another form we assume, transformation, and with no further ado promptly parting from latter days. Let us be soft and yielding, let us flow freely and feed the universal heart with affection. A torrent now, washing over each grain, once flower, once face, once a little lump of amorous play. Tales, just tales as we pound the world and drape it in sheets of sleat and snow. The resounding call of what might be bird, might be wing or feather against the storm. To let go into that same mesh of muscle and flesh, where without resistance we are always met. Soon no more than a drizzle, a mist fabricated by our mere existence. 

Have we become liquid sunshine now in our quest to be free?