you stand in the summer,

but it’s still rainy days.

you hold an umbrella,

hoping humid wind will take you away.

you walk in dry fields,

but your feet drag in the mud.

you wear a dress,

hoping the birds don’t eat pretty corpses.

it is these days,

when rain makes mud,

and birds start circling,

that we wish to return to the earth once again.

and sometimes,

you sigh and take deep breaths.

that it will pour for now,

but the clouds will pass.

with messy hair and dirty feet,

you see no rain making no mud.

you drop the umbrella,

and walk back home.

till you look back down,

and find a feather.

the acknowledgement of feelings felt,

from moving through rain and mud.

you could stuff a giant’s pillow

with the feathers you’ve collected.

so find your feathers,

and maybe one day you’ll fly with them.