Sitting here listening to the wind blowing and seen those clouds rolling in looking heavy and knowing that the rains will be coming down heavy soon, and I’m sitting here “scribbling” down thoughts and feelings and you might call me a romantic, or possibly a helpless romantic when the weather changes to the way it is now as I chase moments down. Especially when the rain or snow starts to fall because it seems to mean and hold everything, with all of the past and all that seems to have been lost get unlocked then.

Looking out and seeing those black trees under those heavy gunmetal grey skies, and hearing the whispering and swaying in the wind as they receive that gift of rainwater gratefully, and watching as those clouds seem to flow down the mountains and look like they are cut in half. And occasionally hearing the sizzle of lightning as I see it flash and hear the thunder roll heavily right after it, with the sound of artillery fire as the overture before the rain is released.

As each drop hits it unlocks people, places, and moments in time, having me flash-backing or traveling down avenues of memory like when that old Highway 61 calls. And seeing all through that smoking mirror of the mind as I make my way through it all sorting it out, and now crossing those bridges again with all the lessons that I have learned and been burned some too. But, that’s expected when one plays with fire here in the present.

Time is that space that stands there between all things and at times I seem to be fading, and looking at the good and trying to ignore the bad as I revisit all and look at the way things stand. I know all of us wish we could go back and do it all again just knowing what we know now instead of having to be learning again, and having gone through forced aging with some of the things gone through but again that’s life and life only. Trying to say yes while all around continue to say no and listen to the self proclaimed saints quick to judge, and have them latch onto and hold those negative thoughts.

Hearing the rain and looking on those shreds of memories that seem to lie on the grass, and knowing that some of those wounded words of laughter are like headstones in the graveyard(s) of the past. Still they come forth and are held onto like in the pockets of that old raincoat sitting in the back of the closet, and being just like all of those cards and letters that have been collected that were sent out with regards. And the faces that hang in frames upon the wall have seen all like mute witnesses.

Rain drops falling from my eyelashes making all seem as though I am looking through a beaded curtain, as I look to the skies and see the moon hanging there like a thin curved knife blade obscured by the clouds. As I am now feeling the moment begin to pass as the storm moves on and know all I’m allowed to take with me when I go; are all the memories and love I have and it’s what I am also allowed to leave behind as well.

Copyright August 2008 – 22: Timberwolf International LTD.