The Sound of Rain on Tin

Where the soul listens, and sorrow softens.

It began with the roof. A soft tapping, barely there, like the footfalls of ghosts. I sat alone on the back porch of a weathered cabin, high in the hills, a mug of tea between my palms and a thousand miles of silence behind me.

I had come here to forget. Or maybe to remember properly. The difference feels thin when you're aching.The sky was a low slate curtain, and the first drops fell like an old lullaby. Not loud. Just steady. Not demanding, just sure.

My grandfather used to say rain was a prayer. Not the kind we say out loud, but the kind the earth says for us when we’ve run out of words.

I listened.

And in the listening, something inside loosened.

There had been months of tightness in my chest, like a fist curled too long. There had been loss. There had been things I couldn’t fix. Words I didn’t say in time.

But here, the world didn’t ask for my explanations.

Only my stillness.

The tin roof sang its ancient rhythm. Somewhere in the distance, wind moved through tall pine like ocean waves over stone.

The chair creaked beneath me, slow and forgiving. My tea steamed like breath from a sleeping beast. I let it all be.

Sometimes the path to healing isn’t paved. It’s damp and dirt-slick, covered in moss, barely visible unless you know how to feel for it with your feet.

That day, I felt it. One careful step inward. Into myself.

And the rain, relentless and soft, kept falling.

I remembered how my mother hummed when she cooked, how her voice carried even when her hands were tired. How we danced barefoot once during a storm, laughing like fools, soaked to the bone.

I remembered the feel of my father's jacket draped around my shoulders after a long walk. The scent of tobacco and cedar. The unspoken love in his silence.

Tears came, but not in sorrow. They came like the rain. Soft. Cleansing. Certain.

By dusk, the clouds broke open and a slice of sun spilled across the porch floor, lighting dust like glitter.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t have to.

The earth had spoken. And I had listened.