The Opening

Notes From the Hollow Bone | Entry fifty-four

Yesterday there were small puddles of footprints across my patio.

I noticed them hours after they were made.

By then I had already showered. Changed clothes. Returned to the ordinary rhythm of the day.

The footprints stopped me.

Little pools of water scattered across the floor.

Evidence.

Proof that something had happened.

Earlier that morning I had stood in the center of a circle of trees.

There is a place in my yard where a small circle of trees rise together, their branches woven overhead like shelter.

And yet, in the very center, there is an opening.

A place where the sky can still reach the ground.

For three days I had carried a sadness I could not explain.

Nothing was wrong.

Nothing had happened.

Yet something in me felt heavy.

Not heavy enough to understand.

Not heavy enough to name.

Only heavy enough to remain.

Then the rain came.

Thunder rolled across the morning.

The sky opened.

And I walked into the center of the trees.

Rain poured through the opening above me.

At some point I began to cry.

At some point I began to let the ache speak.

At some point the thunder answered.

Or perhaps we were simply speaking at the same time.

I could not tell which drops were rain and which were tears.

I could not tell where my voice ended and the storm began.

For a few moments there was no separation between myself and the weather.

There was only release.

Not understanding.

Not answers.

Not healing in the way people usually mean it.

Only release.

Later, after the rain had passed and the day had continued, I found the footprints.

A trail left behind by someone who had walked home drenched.

Someone who had entered the house carrying a storm.

I stood looking at them and felt an unexpected tenderness.

The footprints would disappear.

The patio would dry.

The storm would move on.

Yet something in me had become lighter.

I still do not know what I was grieving.

I still do not know what I released.

Perhaps nothing was wrong at all.

Perhaps some feelings simply stay until they are witnessed.

Perhaps some tears are waiting for rain.

What I know is this:

Yesterday I stood beneath an opening in the trees.

The sky found me.

And for a little while, I felt held by something larger than myself.

Today the footprints are gone.

The comfort remains.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai