Like A Woman

The downpour soaked the earth, washing away any traces of the past, cleansing and renewing. Like a woman, monthly releasing what she no longer needs. The downpour became destructive, leaving a trail of lost memories and broken possessions. Like a mother who birthed life at the expense of her own vessel, now a distant memory of how it used to be. The downpour asked the earth to drink, and keep drinking until it could hold no more. Like a grandmother who sacrificed her all until her last ounce of energy was spent. The downpour was loud, thundering against everything it touched so that we would pay attention. Like a sister that roars fiercely when she has your back. The downpour breathed life into all the roots, re-energising any that were becoming stagnant. Like a daughter who was born to break tradition. The downpour etched its memory into every crack, seeping into the core of the earth, so that everything that grew from this moment would carry the memory of what was just witnessed. Everything that would now grow would be stronger, wiser, braver and more powerful because it chose to keep growing despite it all. Like a woman.