Whoosh, the doors open,
Exposing us to true air.
We had forgotten what it felt like,
To have rain fall on our heads,
And trickle down our faces.
Cooped up inside four walls,
Wasting away in hard chairs,
Leaving our minds to be confiscated.

The smell has me intoxicated,
But flowers stand their ground.
Their luminous petals capture my attention,
Through mud and grass they can be found.
Lilies and daisies come together,
Under overshadowing oaks, pines, firs,
Green up and down sagging due to weather.
Flashes as fast as lightning—robins—perched above.

Our feet on firm ground,
Twisting around and around,
Crowds of those who stand mesmerized.
I hit every puddle's outskirts,
To show myself it's real and here.
My pace slows, my arms silently fan out,
Reaching—grasping—for nothing,
Because it feels so good to not hold on.

Approaching my next destination,
My heart clenches as my back is turned.
In the building I'm captured once more,
Clear to me that it continues when I'm gone.
No matter how tight those doors are shut,
Or how sealed the windows appear,
The rain is still in my view,
And I desperately hope it will never disappear.