The weather forecasters are saying that tomorrow and the next day will bring us bluer skies and dryer weather. For the sake of moving on with this thought, we'll just take that as stipulated by the witnesses, shall we? Evidential proof is utterly impossible in this absurdity of a storm. (And I like rain! But this year, even I am ready to remember what color the sky is above the clouds.)
I'm ready to move on. To see spring. To feel the sun on my face again. But today? Today the weather is a perfect exterior to match my interior. Inside of me, the water is moving in sheets and waves, first to one side, then to the other ... little drops, big drops ... and a sudden gust of wind tries to blow open my windows from time to time.
Tomorrow and the next day.
Tomorrow that man person who used to be my little boy - tomorrow he drives away. And the next day he won't be here when I wake up in the morning. I'll be at this desk again, just like today, and if the weather people are right, I'll be looking at the sun coming through the trees.
No driving rain. No background of tossing fir trees and crashing creek noises. No man/boy in the room across the hall for me to disturb by my pounding on the keyboard or my laughing out loud or my swearing at ... well, never mind what I swear at. The point is that I'll do it aloud and then realize - again - that there's no reason not to because the rain and the boy are gone. The skies and the house will be cleared out. I know what that feels like. I've done this before. And I'll have to go to work in the afternoon on that day, but if I want to, I can spend the whole morning stomping and yelling and pacing and crying and singing and dancing around the house. It wouldn't bother anyone at all.
Ever seen a beach storm? Today's one of those days. I expect to be cleaning up broken branches in my yard when it's over, but ... you never know what you'll find on the sand when the wind stops. Tomorrow, the wind is supposed to stop. The next day, I'll be beach combing.