Trust

In the hours before the storm, I am most alive. Trees bow to sudden wind gusts, branches snap and bright green leaves spin in contrast against a darkened sky. I stand on a carpet of soft pink cherry blossoms and feel the wind whip hair across my face pulling buried emotions to the surface. Clouds sprinkle the first water drops down an already wet face. The winds sweep aside dead branches and exposes life while thunder sends animals scurrying deeper into the woods. White caps slam into solid creek rock as I watch lightning race across the sky.

I trust this dance and want to be among the ones who feel peace in spring storms. I trust those who live in the moment and aren’t afraid to share emotions. I trust those who experience love until it hurts. I trust the tears of those who laugh hardest. I connect to those who live a life bent that once was broken. I am comfortable with those who carry their scars on healed wrists and extended hands. I understand those who plunge into internal pools and splatter life on bystanders. I trust what I see, what I feel and in these people of the rain.

I don’t trust sunny days filled with people displaying even sunnier dispositions. I wonder what is lurking behind cheery faces and if their names are called Stepford. I wonder about polite half smiles and limp handshakes. I wonder what they hide and if they hide from themselves. I wonder if they apply false illusions with practiced hands to cover up smudges of secret lives.

And yet, I wonder most of all about myself standing still in the storm feeling my mask wash away.