I've always had this obsession with water lipping over...

So the rain never stopped.
And suddenly it seemed to me that the flash flood that dropped
To a bubbly happy brook
was dried up and began anew with steadily rising water blue.
Not gray and angry like last time
Just a deep, unthinking blue, pitter-patter.
Didn’t matter.
I let it rise until again it came forth, but,
Now, you would think it dries—
No,
Just a bit lipped over,
So it rose further.
Drove her crazy, never ending.
No cathartic moments pending. Spending
Every minute waiting, fearful, angry, still
She’s hating those small drops fallen into that stagnant pond,
Once a river.
She’s wishing she could stop the drizzle,
Let it sit and die, a swamp.

Start the process over.

She sees it, what she wants to be:

A deep, gorgeous valley.
With flowers, lush grasses responding
To the brilliant sun
And animals on the run
And bees that skim over the clovers
Across something that once looked damaged
And never too well managed.
But now is firm and fertile and fair.
She envisions herself healthy, unaware.
Just calm and happy and green and plain.
Just drinking that water whenever it rains.
Soaking up life, however it comes.
Not submitting to any inner demons.
Letting the wind blow her hair in her face,
Not trying to know, just knowing her place.