When rains come

It begins gently at first, softly falling like a child's tears.� It is a sad thing, but not so unusual and wholesome in its way.� And the wind lightly blows, almost tenderly caressing your face.� This will not last, but it's nice isn't it? In the beginning there were two and they knew love of a kind. The rain comes down harder now, no longer a child's gentle weeping, and not quite an adult's passionate cries for a lost love.� It is somewhere in between.� Then too, the wind picks up, catching your hair, causing it to fall across your face.� It speaks, in the way that wind speaks, a soft moan, nothing more yet. Time passed, and the two brought forth children.� The children built and bred and grew.� Thousands, then millions. The rain has not changed, it does not fall with greater intensity, but in the distance the faint sound of rolling thunder and the flash of a great light.� The voice of the wind calls out to it, the clouds gather more strongly. The two were not man and woman, but that is close.� In the full distance of time, they grew apart and so their children suffered.� She was not happy with Him, but She would not leave Him. The rain falls strongly now, if you were not wet before, you are now.� The wind's moan has changed to a howl and the lightning grows closer.� The air is charged with possibility. She loved them, but to Him they were a barrier, something that caused the coldness that had grown between them.� Perhaps that is why She said nothing when they drove Him out. The storm is a storm in truth now, the rain stings a little as it falls, water dripping from your hair.� The wind's howling pierces your clothing, finding any gap and driving itself through it, perhaps seeking your warmth.� You should find shelter, but something is about to happen. Generation upon generation grew, lived, and died.� They forgot Her name and His.� She was still with them though and they still loved Her, in their way, but He, they lost entirely.� He watched from beyond, unable to touch Her.� Sometimes He lashed out at the skies. The lightning is close now, illuminating the entire night sky, the thunder crackling within a minute or so of the lightning.� It should feel cold, shouldn't it?� The wind is strong and the rain is fierce, but you are not cold.� There is an energy building. A crack has formed in his millennia old prison.� He feels it and rages against it, throwing His might towards it.� The crack widens. You stand there, silently staring at the raging heavens as lightning cracks open the vault of the sky.� The lines of light hang suspended in the air, after they should have ended.� Something is coming. He feels freedom.� He goes to it; soon He will be with His bride once more. He is coming. He is angry. // Credited to Jimmy Reinstatler