Therapy Bits

The sky folds in on itself,
gray stacked upon gray,
a heavy quilt stitched
with restless seams of light.

Branches bow like weary dancers,
their leaves flung into wild applause,
while the air, thick and urgent,
presses against every windowpane.

Rain begins—not gently,
but in a sudden percussion,
a thousand drums rattling
on roof, on road, on waiting hearts.

Thunder rolls, low and guttural,
a voice from beneath the earth,
and the world holds its breath
between each luminous strike.

Yet in the storm’s ferocity
there is a strange clarity:
the afternoon stripped bare,
its silence waiting on the other side.