The clouds after the storm

Rainstorms are that of a purge. A purge for all of the water held in the clouds, the arrogant clouds. They sit above us, floating on by. They tease and taunt us with their predictability.

Expanding, consuming, and sometimes negative, the clouds rule over our lives. They grace us with rain or punish us by ignoring our pleas.

The rain is a blessing that we can’t live without. We need it for so many different things.

It feeds our plants, our animals, and when you need it, the most of ourselves.

The water is not always pleasant, from such a calming, cooling substance to that of a burning sharp spike.

Ice that burns the flesh on contact, steam that boils your skin in seconds, you cannot be thankful for what you have received without the fear of what it could be.