18/04/2026
And in the midst of the rain
I hold wonder
as I see each drop coming down
splashing, nurturing…
and I stand there,
half heavy, half open,
feeling the ache of what was
and the quiet pull of what still is.
Because even in this
there is movement
and I wait.
The drop does not stay
it falls, it breaks, it disappears
and somehow… it becomes.
And I wait.
not in certainty,
but in a soft kind of faith.
For the sun to reach what remains
to touch what feels lost
and turn it, gently,
into light.
So it can sparkle again,
even if only for a moment
and return to earth
not as it was,
but as something that can grow.
And maybe that is how we carry grief
not by holding it still,
but by letting it fall,
letting it change,
letting it find its way back
into something living
again
and again
and again.
Anja
💛💛💛