A longing for the rain

In the middle of an expansive green field lies a gazebo. Upon its steps a figure. A hem of a dress can be seen, feet peeking from underneath. Rain and dimmed sunlight. Light winds that hold a cool air to them. The hem rises a little bit, the feet exposed to the coolness. A fleeting sensation across the spine. The stretching of the legs, reaching, longing for the wet, cool, grass. Contact. A pleasant shudder that leaves a smile on the face. More rain, drenching the hem in water, feet completely soaked. Grateful for seclusion. Drops of rain seep into the wooden roof, drips on the yellowing pages of the book. Soon, one drop occupies the whole page. Words of ink, ruined, but eternally etched within the mind. Abruptly, the rain stops. The wind halts, but in the air lingers a freezing effect. Clattering of the teeth, short breaths that leave humid markings in the invisible air and pleasure. Lingering, freezing and sensational. A sigh. Midst the foggy view, stands a mountain; blurry but present. Foot still on the wet cold grass. The fleet cover of flimsy ice. The donning of the coat. No barriers; just freedom. No longer underneath the gazebo; no defense, just utter vulnerability. Breathing; long and repeated. Rain, again. A twirling underneath the heavy drops. Sheer felicity. A shadow passes; shrugged and unneeded. Another twirl of forgetfulness. It persists. Allow it to enter? alright, nothing wrong can happen underneath the rain. A manifestation; strong and demanding. Too imposing. Seclusion is desired, but its presence is longed for; it's been a long time. Surrender. Oh, how sweet! The rain halts, the apparition dissipates, the sun shines through. Loneliness.

Picture by Lianne Cook


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