remembering thundersong

the thunder purrs outside my window,
and deep within the marrow of my bones
i know what is coming.
this twilight sky reflects hope,
the thin streaks of lightning
illuminating Ursa
and her companions of star-dust and clouds.
another peal of thunder.
the air grows warm.
i remember evenings
of gazing at the heavens,
thinking "this is not for me,"
recalling lonliness and hurt.
the air was moist like this,
anticipation
for the moment when the sky would open
and the rain would fall.
and it was just like this.
the longing for my deeper understanding,
when the thunder and lightning
would give way to the storm.
my mother used to tell me,
"the rain is the tears every angel has cried,
and thunder comes from the sorrow of the gods."
i did not understand it then,
why the air always felt so warm
and collected,
folded and folded
inward a thousand times,
as if to contain itself
in the waiting for that final moment.
i remember once
standing in the rain,
my palms collecting the tiny water drops
that would burst as they hit my hands,
and thinking that when i went to heaven
i would give the angels back their tears
and ask them why they had always been so sad.
but i understand it now.
i know the sorrows of the gods,
how it connects to the earth and skies
and rises beyond the heavens and the glorious stars.
i know how that final streak of lightning,
so wild and free in its pattern,
will light the sky for a second
and then fade.
but the thunder is my true companion
in these final moments before the storm.
how it breaks the silence
and then leaves its resonance behind,
as if to keep me company
in the lonliness of this eternal wandering.