Weathering

Selected for The 34 Gallery’s Storms open call. A white horse emerges through spray and mist.

I’m not sure why, but storms have always spoken to me. There’s something about them that feels freeing. Immediate. When the rain comes down hard enough, tears blend into it and no one can tell the difference. Thunder hides my cries. And once I’ve let those things out—the ones I’ve spent so much energy holding in—I can become “me” for a while. Wild and free, as elemental as the storm itself.