It’s half past midnight and I keep staring out the window at the bare swaying branches glistening beneath the orange lamp post. I close my eyes and a moment with my daughter earlier in the day replays in my mind. We’re walking in the rain and singing the “rain rain go away” song. Despite the meaning of the song, it’s clear that neither of us want the rain to go away. It’s cold, but soothing and kind of amazing if you really think about it; the way water nourishes the earth, but can cause growth and destruction simultaneously.

She extends her arms out to catch the raindrops in the palms of her hands and tilts her head up to watch them fall. I smile, “You are so brave, little one. You are the ocean in a tiny drop.” Somehow it feels natural to recite poetry to my near 2 year old daughter.We walk inside and she says goodbye to the rain. A testament to her recognition and gratitude in something bringing her joy. I think to myself I will do anything to make sure her spirit is never broken.

When I was younger, I used to watch the rain from the living room window. It would pour down into the street, cars would drive by with their wipers on, people scurried by underneath umbrellas like the rain was something to fear. Water would build up on the side of the road, drops of rain diving into the puddles with lightening in the distance breaking through the clouds. I’d listen to the pitter patter against the awning, feel the thunder rumble inside me and remember that I was still alive.

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