Momentary
I love the way the sky looks right before it rains.
The soft gray clouds come together like eyebrows knitting on a stern parent's face.
The wind teases just the tops of the trees and they quiver in fear of reproach.
The new color is a pressure I can feel pressing down on my insides
Excitement rises in the wake of it.
Maybe it's because I know today's will be a spring rain.
Maybe it's the smell of it --washed earth, mushrooms, electricity
Maybe I feel the breeze blowing away today, making room for tomorrow.
It fills me, between breaths,
and in these moments there is nothing between my soul and the sky,
not even the window I am gazing through.
I wonder if this is what it feels like to fly.
