sometimes the music changes, or how we hear it, does.
eddies of dust and debris tornado
into clouds of regret.
Lightning flashes illumine
when fear thundered,
when hailstone fists pummeled.
Rainbows ribboned across sunlit skies
and I splashed in muddy puddles
wiping washed feet on spring-green grasses.
Mobius memories circle, entwine, spiral
into new growth, ivy-ed twists shooting forth,
climbing to new heights
unburdened by the weighted terrors—
to the music of the storm.