"I am glad the rain is coming down hard. It is the way I feel inside." -Sylvia Plath

And does the rain ever pour this summer as it did spring. Like it, I understand. I understand that some days I can rage and some days I only dare whisper inside my head. The latter, the days of silence and early morning moonlight when each sip of half awake coffee is my only company before venturing out into the unending sound of spatter.

Of patter.

Of rain in its downpour of thoughts of questions of ideas that may ignite a new one.

"August rain: the best of summer gone, and yet the fall not yet born. The odd even time." -Sylvia Plath

That will hopefully ignite a new with a single drop. A single drop of clarity only a drought reminds me to savor before it is to late and the puddles are no longer deep enough for the smallest of toes to jump through-

Not over.

And it is only July.


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