monday mornings sometimes

darkness

looming outside

in the early

of a morning

rain pending

tall pines

and lush green

the landscape

standing

at attention

perfectly still

waiting

even the

birds

knowing

announcing

before

the first

crack

of

thunder

before

the wind

eddying

and

stirring

before

the trees

waving

about

their 

leaf laden

arms

before

even

the pines

joining

the dance

there is a

pause

a languid

sort of

waiting

a sweet

anticipation

of surely

what is to come

drinking it in

savoring

the moment

before

a sky 

opening

and a

downpour

merciless

droplets falling

staccato

hammering

a street

thrumming

on rooftops

relentless rain

beauty surrounding

unexpected

maybe

this

God-driven

goodness

ushering in

something

as

sweet

as

summer

Beauty in the raw

 

Rain pouring down.
In the cold gray.
Beauty in the raw.
And in the cold.
A morning.  A season. 

Layers.  Of life.

And for a short while.
In the early.
Frantic slows.
And time morphs.
Into a river; slow and gentle.
By which to sit.
And be still.

And in the sifting.
Through the layers.
Of hours lived busy.
Cacophony of worry yelling.
Frantic attempts thrashing.  
And confusion filling. 

Raw.
Bubbles up to the surface.
And sits on my lap.
Staring at me.
And I laugh.  No longer afraid.
Seeing the truth.
Experiencing grace.
And it's all okay.

Needing nothing more.
Than the being still.
And knowing.

He is God.

Redeeming the madness.
And the rain.  And the cold.
And the seasons falling hard.

Layers.  Of life.

Giving us beauty in the raw.

And rain pouring down. 

Beautiful.