There's a flower that stands tall and strong, conviction rooting her to the ground.
Come hail or drought or snow, she stands there, tall and strong.
When the sun is high,
When the skies are clear,
I miss the rain, she says.
I miss the breeze, she says.
My clouds are gray and violent, thunderous and looming.
A rain shower of tears.
Wind that blows fierce with fear.
And she takes it.
Asks for it.
She sees the beauty of the darkest darkness; purifies the sky.
Until the rain trickles down gently, only tiny drops of dew.
Until the wind dies down to a breeze, a soft whisper that tickles through the trees.
Until soon my skies are clear again.
And my light, my sun, shines high.
Then if her petals stand withered, if her leaves sag or droop; I'll still think she's the most beautiful flower I've ever seen, give her all the warmth she needs.
Navigating with precarious balance.
Losing it and getting it back.
We'll move forward with the seasons.
We'll face the day and Fight.