Blissful Mornings - The Dance of the Wind and the Rain

Pip had always loved the wind.

It danced through the trees, whistled through the cracks in windows, and carried the scent of something new. Pip would often sit on the porch, arms stretched wide, inviting it to swirl around her. She believed the wind was joy itself—light, free, full of movement.

But then came the rain.

Heavy, rhythmic, drumming against the rooftop, soaking the earth. The wind would fade into a whisper, giving way to the storm. And Pip, much less fond of the rain, would sigh, pulling her knees to her chest, waiting for the sky to clear again.

One day, as the first raindrops splattered onto the wooden steps, Pip groaned.

“Why must it always rain after such a beautiful breeze?” she asked aloud, pouting at the gray sky.

Beside her, Grandpa chuckled, rocking in his chair. “Ah, but Pip,” he mused, “the wind and the rain aren’t fighting. They’re dancing.”

Pip frowned. “That doesn’t look like a dance to me. It looks like the wind loses every time.”

Grandpa smiled, tilting his hat back. “Maybe that’s because you think one is better than the other. But look closer.”

So Pip did.

She watched as the wind, though softened, still wove through the rain, shifting its patterns, making it swirl and twirl in ways it wouldn’t have on its own. She noticed how the trees, after swaying wildly in the wind’s embrace, now stretched their roots deeper, drinking in the rain’s gift.

For the first time, she saw it—the rhythm, the give and take.

“Joy and grief are like that, Pip,” Grandpa said, as if reading her thoughts. “One isn’t against the other. They work together, shaping us, growing us. The wind carries, and the rain nourishes.”

Pip let the words settle, feeling the damp air kiss her cheeks.

And as the raindrops tapped gently against her skin, she laughed—because now, she saw the dance.

-Bliss Chains Authors