The Cleansing

The silence is a break of noise; silence is the energy crackling off your skin

Of your arms warming in anticipation and the wind ceasing down to a whisper.

Your pulse pounds, while your bare feet scrunch on the dry grass.

And you watch the dark clouds roll up from the horizon.

The air is heavy and the clear smell of rain on ground races up your nose.

Closing your eyes. You feel the droplets hit your face.

Thunder rumbles and you are soaked within a minute.

Dark clouds flash as you stare up at the illuminated shadows.

Bitter tears mingle with the sharp tang of rain. Hands unclasp, and arms open.

You sit on the sopping grass. Watching the collapse of heavens continue.

Water gushes from leaves.

Flowers open and waste is washed away.

A cleanse is what you need.

A spring cleaning.

A methodical removal of pain, hurt and wrongdoings.

The rain in cathartic, expulsive, even.

It scours you and revives you. Brings you back to the present.

For a split second, your worries are forgotten,

As you lie, staring at the clouds. Watching and waiting,

For the cleansing.