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Like so many of us who have watched the fires devour the hills and houses of Los Angeles, I wept. Though part of me held on tightly to the silver-linings that I know (from experience) always come from these disastrous new beginnings, the immense grief, helplessness, and fear persisted with the winds who swept over the landscape like dragon’s breath.
Desperate for something to give, something to soothe, I walked with my dog (only two mornings after the blazes began), where I was met by a long-lost friend: the Clouds. They were welcome after this dry winter of droopy leaves and crispy grasses as the only rain that came for months teased in misty rations.
But these clouds were different: the cool air they carried was still -except for its breath, which was gentle enough to touch my skin in a caring caress, yet still enough for the quiet to reach every blade of grass.
Like the leaves who rested after their long dance, I stopped in my tracks, able to inhale a little more than the last. Deep sighs of relief came as the colors were muted by grey and the sharp sky softened into pillows that seemed to say: You can rest now, my love.
I imagined all of the people who have fought the fires and fled their homes finally able to rest their bones. I know from when the fires hit the places I have roamed that sadness tends to stay at bay as long as adrenaline flows. But in the moments that I laid down my head, the sorrow flooded.
It was for this moment that the clouds covered me as if to say that it's ok to pour out all my grief. Like a blanket of lullabies, they began to rain on me.
Slick and shiny, I let myself be watered as I absorbed every single sip I that could remember. This was the moment that was meant to be given. For every raindrop my heart was a catchment.
Full brimming, I began to overflow into this gentle lullaby of cloud-covered hope.
May it make you a pillow that’s soft and sweet to lay your head down into soothing dreams.
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