It’s been raining on and off for two days, but the warmth and the mist feel like magic. Watching from my window as a downpour bathes the earth seems to wash away my fear. The acute pain of hopelessness floats away. It is a renewal, a rebirth. My mind, which usually swirls swiftly like a tornado, calms behind a backdrop of steady sprinkles, intense thunder, and somber shadows. The heavy droplets cleanse my searching soul and heighten my senses. The atmosphere brightens despite the clouds and a peculiar, supernatural pulse seeps into the air. It’s as if a sudden shower opens a portal into another realm. It bewitches me with its faded, blue, electric aura. I can feel its ghostly touch on my skin, a gentle kiss placed on my crown and its fingers twirling the long locks of my hair. I can hear its soft, celestial voice whisper in my ear, “Anything is possible.” Mother Earth says in a sweet, southern drawl, “Close your eyes. Listen to the drip, drip, drip . . . and dream. Dream of mythical beasts, epic quests, and ethereal queens.” A rainstorm is a gateway, a fantasy. Anything is possible if you believe.