Rainstorms cultivate wet petals

It was summer of 2018, when we were still living on that 8th story (penthouse), facing south, in the Calgary Beltline. I curated a container garden filled with the prettiest store bought petals I could find. Then I watched them get wet, during the heavy rain storms we would be faced with that spring/summer (and all spring/summers living in Alberta). One day, I was bewitched by the big sloppy drops falling from the roof onto the railing, after smoking a joint (because what else do you do on a weekend when it's raining in your late 20's? I didn't know different). There was a perfect puddle for the drop to explode in. It brought me great joy.

Seeking joy was very important to me during this time of my life. It was not long ago that someone near and dear to me was no longer in my everyday life. They didn't die, but they did vanish. They were a mentor, a mother figure. I was at a loss of words, unable to find the pathway to reconnecting with them. I knew they felt betrayed, but it wasn't because of me. But I felt guilty by association because I stayed in the environment that was responsible for the circumstance. I was much younger then. My first experience of lay-offs in the workplace that caused a tremendous aftershock to my heart and soul. So the silence continued, as I processed. Torture in the new regime commenced. The grief and rage guiding me to explore somatic therapy in my own way; the camera, my portal. I was grateful for the rainstorms that spring/summer. They provided a purifying experience and wave of inspiration. Here are some photos from that time.