When the rain falls down

There's no doubt about it, we live in a broken world. This world where forests of green were once a normal thing to encounter, not these forests of gray.

We once had a world where the water was always clean. Where the air itself practically made music. It was a world contained, a world in order, a world of perfection.

It's quite interesting that even though it's broken now, this world is still is trying to heal itself.

I live in a part of this world we call The City. Now, this isn't a San Francisco city or a LA city. No. But it's a city nonetheless. This city has cut it's way into existence through the fabric of flora. All of our cities have. But it seems like the earth doesn't mind. Doesn't the earth realize that nothing can grow once a city is born?

When the rain falls, it's as if the earth realizes it's wounds, and says "It's ok, I forgive you. Just try not to let it happen again. This will just scar up, no lasting damage." The earth forgives the wrong and moves on leaving us with a gift. The smell that we in the city have grown to associate with rebirth. The smell of fresh rain on the city floor.


I said that I live in the city, and that's true. But I also live in the desert, a place where this liquid forgiveness is already rare. How special it is, then, when it rains here. I have learned to treasure the few times each year when the clouds get dark and the skies light up with electricity and down comes the rain. I love it when the air is warn and the raindrops are cold, the contrast is amazing.

I know that there's more to rain physically and so much more spiritually, But when it rains, all I can think about is forgiveness and rebirth despite seemingly impossible odds. Then, I usually get a bit chocked up because I remember something else.


I remember that I am just like this city.