No cloud
remembers only
one story to tell.
Maybe something has been taking up a lot of space in your life lately grief, anxiety, a season that won't lift. That's real. It's also not the only chapter you're in.
This is a space to look at what's happened, and what it means to you, together.
At Rains and Rainbows I invite you to begin a conversation.
Start your journey—not towards becoming someone else, but towards reclaiming the stories, values, and ways of being that matter most to you. 🌧️🌈
In the Lands of Rains
Some rains come as rest
washing the dust from tired hands,
asking nothing, giving quiet.
Some rains come as grief
tapping slow on old windows,
naming what was lost.
Some rain smells like childhood
like wet earth and open windows,
like running inside with shoes in hand,
laughing at how fast the sky changed its mind.
Some rains come as memory,
of rivers we once waded,
of laughter caught beneath a shared umbrella.
And some rain simply comes
not as punishment, not as omen,
just weather passing through
a life that holds more than weather.
You are not the rain.
You are the one who stands in it
who chooses which drops to call sorrow,
which to call cleansing,
which to let pass without a name at all.
You are not the rain.
You are the one behind the glass,
folding laundry while it falls.
And some days, quiet as breath,
the rainbow arrives
unasked, not loud.
Just there, over the grocery store,
over the traffic light,
over the ordinary evening
you almost missed it in.
Not to erase what fell,
not to pretend the ground was never wet,
but to stand beside it
to only remind
the sky was always holding more
than one kind of weather.
And so are you.