Roses, Raindrops, and Roaming

Some days are all roses; sunshine brightly pouring over every moment.

People are all joy, laughter. Dancing and singing and twirling last through the hours, people rushing with excitement.

Everyone is bustling with activity, happiness buzzing through the air like bees.

During these days, everything is filled to the brim with life and beauty and sweet scents (which will call back the memories in days to come).

But some days are all raindrops. Dark, stormy skies are swirling around carried by the howling wind.

Thunder rumbles with dissatisfaction, the building pressure and tension setting off streaks of lightning. The whole world seems waiting for the storm to pass.

Everything is dark and cool.

In these days, one knows the rains will pass, leaving the ground strengthened by the sky's' tears, the sky and earth both better for its release. One only has to wait for the storm to pass.

Still some days are all roaming. Clouds passing through the air.

Gray blankets cover the sky, not letting the sun in but not letting the rain fall. The clouds are simply there: quiet, calm, and dreary.

Stagnant. Like a ship sitting in the doldrums, with the waves still and easy but with no wind to give the sails direction.

Everything is stifled. No color exciting, no sound frightening; nothing wrong, but nothing quite right.
Everything is fine but only fine, and, as result, the day is bleak.

These days are filled with drifting endlessly, floating aimlessly, and standing restlessly.

Some days are mixtures. The roaming begins in the middle of rain. The rain drops land on the roses. The roses are found in the midst of roaming. Pain and joy and calm mingle together, squashed into a collage of good and bad.

In the collection of highs and lows, in the mingling of all kinds of days --- there, one finds life.