Weight lifted by rain
A slender blade of grass, heavy with a single bead of rain, leans earthward in the grey hush after a shower. The droplet trembles, clear and undecided, held lightly between gravity and release. Around it, the ground darkens with new moisture, old weight absorbed into soil and root. No breeze stirs, but in the stillness, a gentle lessening is felt—something once tense now eased, the air emptied of charge. Nothing has gone, but something is made lighter by the listening quiet.
What is held softly grows lighter.
The Words BEHIND THE WORK“For a long time, I carried anger I didn’t know what to do with. You listened without defending yourself. That changed something in me.”