The cool wind and grass tickling my bare feet lovingly and empathetically ease the knots in my chest. To move would be to disrupt this peace — so I sit still. I hear them now, the choir welcoming me and reminding me I am not alone. It rained earlier today, didn’t it? This solitude is temporary, however. The band has come to play.

I invited you here to sit and hear them sing with me, to hear them play for us so effortlessly. Every tree, bush, and flower, with their shape and size reflecting the journeys  they themselves have taken. This is the shape of their sound, they all sing a song of their own. The pines sing like pines, and the willows like willows. One can sound harsh and troubled, the other wistful and ambivalent. 

She marches closer every second, large pockets of air trading places overhead. This is the time to stand, to raise your arms and welcome our neighbors as they would welcome us. You seem nervous, but there is no reason to be. I invite you to just stand quietly with me and listen, to be an attentive audience member for our omnipotent hosts. The stillness we hear now is but the preamble, it is an invitation to the motions above.

She will brush up against you as well, making you hers tonight. Oh, how she’ll warm your heart, forge your mind, and play your song. Why do you look so nervous?

The soft murmur erupts into a loud roar, the clouds sprinkling a soft mist onto your face to remind you that you’re here. She brushes her fingers along and around your neck, grounding you in the present moment. She believes in the beauty surrounding you, she gives it room to manifest how it seldom does. 

I’ve never heard you laugh so deeply before, how you add to the music. Perhaps you hear what I hear, all the jokes, the tears, it can suffocate a person in more ways than one. This wind is heavier than I remember it being, how many others she must have traveled through to reach us. We aren’t the only ones who offer ourselves in this way, who risk the heart for the peace we feel in this moment. We follow these entropic gusts where they may take us, for a brief moment it makes us feel in control. Could we really be doing this ourselves?

The soft humming is interrupted by the band below; the swans can’t seem to say goodbye without a song of their own. How dramatic they are, but we let them sing too. What choice do we have but to savor the finale knowing we’ll need to turn back soon. 

It’ll be quiet again, but I promise we can come back tomorrow. The way this all felt, it will always feel the same when you’re ready to sit here again.

You’re crying now, but I know you’ve always loved the rain.

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