Three Days Of Rain

I paused at my door, bracing for the damage.

A small patch of plaster greeted my first footfall. I looked up to a crater the size of a healthy watermelon, and smiled. My guitars were safe. My couch was unscathed. On scale with other’s recent losses to the sea and the sky, it was not a big deal.

I scraped up the plaster with a spatula, wiped the floor with an old t-shirt, and sat in silence on the stairs. Outside, the wind was rattling around my roof deck. Rain drops were whipping against my windows. The clouds continued their relentless assault.

Inside, I also felt wind whipped and water logged. But the forecast called for clear skies. I know in my aching bones that they will come. I will dry out. I will patch up the damage, spackle over the gaping holes, and apply a fresh coat of clean, white paint.

I will be whole again.

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