Petals of tears

Soft rain, like petals of a flower dropping with time, flutter across her face. She walks as if she's lost but in her eyes there is a fierce knowing of her direction. She bends down as if showing a ceremonial sign of respect and runs her palm across the rain soaked grass. She is more than at peace in nature; she is the peace. The edges of her skirt are muddy and stained, only adding to the elegance of her presence.

Continuing her danceful walk with careful steps as if ensuring the safety of every ant and beetle, she presses onward into the woods. I all but lose sight of her as she makes love to the trees: in and out and around, some sacred dance I am not to know. I sit and run my hands across the grass trying to envoke her return to me. She does not return. The wind decides to show its power and transforms the soft rain into angry tears. I rise to leave and escape this torture that bites into me, but I hear her voice and pause. She is signing in perfect accord with the wind. And the wind calms itself and the soft rain returns.

I search desperately for the tiniest glimpse of her. My tears mingle with the rain as lightening strikes nearby. It is then that I see her, smiling at me with a fierce intensity that produces shivers to emerge from unknown places in my soul. It is then that I realize, she cannot be found in looking, but only in truly seeing is she present. The soft rain continues and petals of tears form in my hands.