100 Words: Flood Rain’s Faithful Sister.
Rains come, pounding rooftops, saturating every
inch of soil down to the deep. Water creeps
under floorboards, pours past garage
doors, gushes into low-lying collection basins.
Bridges connecting small country roads turn
impassable, the ones
at the bottom of mountains
near abandoned railroad tracks.
Grief is a sister to flood rain.
Holding hands, they roll over restraining walls.
Together they stream, surge, cascade — out over the land
of the heart, into valleys of the mind, through the dark woods.
Grief is love out of the cage —
overflowing, endless love.
Grief is love realized and released.
Grief is love let free.
Holly
“Grief is love out of the cage.”
Oh, my.
I’ve said that making the choice to love is making the choice to grieve. We leave ourselves open to the risk of loss..
Who left the cage door open?
Grief is love out of the cage. We left the cage door open and it will never close because we threw the away the key when we captured love.
Terri Crosby
Thank you so much, Holly. Maybe there’s no such thing as loss… there’s only expansion, moving into a more inclusive and expansive way of thinking and feeling…. I think about this often….
Cosette
A beautiful poem. It brought tears. It’s also a reminder of why we shouldn’t love our possessions too much.
Terri Crosby
Thank you so much, Cosette!
Holly
Thank you for the springboard to deepened thought on a most familiar subject.
Terri Crosby
yes, I know…. :–)
Shelley Glinsky
I’m finally getting a chance to to back and catch up on your blogs. This one moved me so much, Terri.