It is a rain of angles; ignorable in shadows, when backlit - heavy, shimmering. I find comfort in the quiet falling. This is a storm of openings. If need be, one could slip between the drops and find a pathway to forgetting or a doorway back to dream. I am in between places - all intersections and reflection; soluble, insolvent, solved. I am still walking the path, searching daily for joy in the Tao of me. I have never been a person for the path of least resistance. When I say I want things to be easy, what I mean is I want the wisdom to travel troubled waters - to know that turbulence is the Qi . . . This old umbrella will remain unopened. No puddle on the path will go unsplashed. I will sing a song of dew and drizzle to pay homage to the stream.
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