An Album
For as long as I can remember, I've always loved the rain. There was something so captivating in the way it made me feel so small, and yet so comfortably so. You yield to the in rain some ways...what else is there to do? In a world where we're always fighting to control the next moment of our lives, there's something incredibly freeing in a force that is so immeasurably beyond you.
As a young man, I've spent much of my life at war with the world beyond me. Trying to control my destiny, as all young men do. But perhaps for as many years as I've spent as a warrior, even more I've spent as a poet, true to my namesake.
And the life of a poet is not one of control, primarily. It's not a quest for power over the material world. In many ways, the life of a poet is marked by a willingness to tarry alongside something long before the need to understand it fully. A staying of the hand that allows one to experience something before merely grasping it for only part of what it may be. An openness to the genuine presence of an other. Not a war. But a dance.
I think the weather calls out the poet in me. Because only a fool would try to control the weather. I say as someone who's tried. In time, and with sufficient wisdom, one learns to come into relationship with the weather. To dance, as it were.