Today a fresh scent fills the air as a bank of clouds rolls in from the west. I sit in the tire swing which hangs from the muscular arm of an old oak tree and watch the coming storm. In the distance, thunder rumbles low and long. An uncanny, and unexpected, flood of joy and relief washes over me and brings tears to my eyes. The peels of thunder break winter’s silent fetters that chained my soul. I face the wind, fresh and warm with mild overtones. It tugs at my mussed hair and pulls at my cotton shirt as it races past. I stretch out my arms, as I did when I was young, with a wish it could lift me from the ground and carry me above the trees.