After the storm, the world is washed and listening—
every surface freshly aware,
the smell of rain in soil still rising,
the particular clarity of clear air.

And then the rainbow—always unexpected,
always producing the involuntary gasp—
the proof that the storm was not the ending
but the prelude to something that would last.

Remember the rainbow in your storms:
not as a promise of no rain again,
but as evidence that what comes after
can be beautiful enough to justify the rain.
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