some seven years later

rescued by the rain

The loneliness can only be filled with these luscious drops of silvery rain. The void, this vacuum of feelings, this barren land, the vast desert of emotions left quenched for water, unloved, run for as long as the eye can see. Nothing to lock the mischievous dust from gathering force with each easternly wind that takes its fancy to dance. There are no plants, there is no life, the thoughts cannot be fixed with just sunlight and air. Somehow they get carried away, inconsequential and aimless. But these bitter days, these nights that lurk, they bring hope, the distinct possibility of rain. That which once was empty is filled, given substance, recognized as worthy of praise. The weight of each raindrop, like heavy armoury, strikes bold, nails the flaunting hopes and desires to the ground. Settles the disputes, settles the flaky and unsure steps. Steers the vessels, floods the doubts.

Here I am, rescued by the rain. The skies I cannot see, I imagine a blue beyond this endless grey. But this grey magically reflects the grey inside. Hushed, almost silent, they all retreat when the rain appears. Haunted. Run like hunted prey from these uncomfortable rains. Run to hide the things they do not want washed away or washed clean. In full glory I reign over the streets. But I am no ruler and become mesmerized by the falling drops of tiny refuge. Each cobble succumbs and so must I, for there is no greater power than that of rain. Cleansing, I forget who made me reigning queen.

The sun set so quietly, the gentle tapping of the rain melodiously lingers on. Inspiration slowly drowns out any light, any sound, just the rain, the smell of freshness, the darkening skies, the cooling night, the mist that covers all floating ideas, fragments of stories waiting to be captured. I give in completely, surrender to the helplessly falling skies. It is of no burden, it is a liberator, a cloaked stranger who brings relief, brings light through the thickening dark. I have never known a sweeter burden than these endless autumn rains. Not through helplessness but choice I chain myself to its boundless grace. 

Frightening how much I enjoy these rainy days. Locked in my mind, wandering through the empty streets, drenched in the heavenly gift of water. Fruitful aspirations, moods which nothing else can replace or replicate. This is how I come to create, this is what quietens me. Every season brings its rain and through these dirty but delicious, these essential drops of water I am softly rescued.

The mighty owl

Through masterful disguise these hearts are protected. The wind howls, the night air is quickly cooling, there is no shelter warm enough to keep from the prying eyes. Flashing in the dense dark, glowing like a fire through a small glazed window. Inside seems cozy and delicious, outside is cruel, but deceptive. Nothing is a better situation than that of the owl. Free. Not captured, not displayed, but in natural magnificence.

You and I are different, we have seldom been able to understand each other. When I pull you pull harder, when I settle you look for ways to keep roaming. There are instances when our paths cross, for brief moments, for just seconds at a time. This has been going on for far too long. I used to be good at it, you used to relish the moments. By now I have lost the ability to savor your flash like recurrences. Once it was easy, even your glittering white could be perfectly made out in winter’s deep snow. Not for all the others, just for me. I could always see. You had the talent of singling me out, showing your beauty only to me. It was pure beauty, inside and out. I still feel at times the breeze of possibility, the unfading hope that things can go back to how they were. That the road we have travelled has no end, never had an end and we can resume the lonely, sometimes tiresome, ultimately fateful journey that we once began. Began so reluctantly, so freely.

I have no way of telling what you cling to, how your desires match the actions of your life. If they match at all. Mine are lost, at times decipherable, mostly just curl to any lingering line that makes these knots of cacophony. Then the music carries me to safety. Music that is melodious and beatless, quiet and sorrowful in its entirety. If stillness meant happiness then I could keep it, really hold it down, nurture it, give my all and more. If in stillness you had the capacity to return, then I could have you, I could really hold you. I move no more. I am rooted not chained. In sadness and through fateful decisions I have been motionless to your roaming. I have a home to love but not you.

I wait. I wait for night to descend, for the stars to appear before I take flight. I am surprised how well I see in the dark. Every little detail, every nook of every stone unturned, every shy brook. Every den kept warm by the rhythmic breathing of beasts of all sizes. Through the haze I see tops of trees, leaves about to fall, mountains glowing silver from the beams of the moon. Then the waters, oceans that sway swiftly. Shining with careless assurance, knowing that no force can change the course of nature. I see the boundless opportunity in each growing bud, in each newly formed pond, in every being coming to existence. I see this all, but I cannot see you. Not even a flash, not even the sense of you. Not even the breeze of your hurried ways, nothing to say that I should search longer.

But I hold on, not to you any more, but to the me I have come to know since you have been gone. There were no promises except the ones that were dutifully kept. I cannot place blame when neither of us is to blame. We stay connected. Through threads underground, unseen. Through wires that are hidden, running above the skies, below the earth. Forever we are connected by these vessels, by those instances when the world burned for you and me. I walk alone, may always stay alone. You walk in a two and will always stay a two. The mighty owl sleeps through the horrors of the day and comes to life in darkness. Spreads its magnificent wings to cover the mistakes made by the sunlight, made by the day.