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Of A Woman Named Rain
Eyes closed.
The distant sound of lazy, rolling waves caresses your ears. You're no stranger to patterns and repetition, but the predictable noise of the tide is somehow different, somehow comforting.
Inhaling deep breaths of salty air that carries the song of no responsibilities or cares, you revel deeply in the foreign sensation of utter tranquility.
A bird calls from somewhere nearby and it shakes you only slightly from this dream like reverie.
A perfect escape.
You find yourself humming along to the tune of the breeze as it playfully ruffles your hair; the thought of sangria crosses your mind for a brief moment, but drinks are best for leaving the office behind.
And right now, you're in paradise,
no liquor required.
You stretch sore muscles, still stiff from sitting in that damned chair for what feels like days on end. The warm tropical air seems to breathe life back into a weary body.
Your shoulders momentarily shudder. The weight of your normal life unexpectedly seeps in like an unwanted visitor.
Guilt.
You fumble and struggle to push it out of your mind and refocus again on the warmth of the midday sun against your face.
Outside of this place, there's a storm. A relentless hurricane that batters against stability; torrential rains pound against buildings and flooded streets keep you trapped in that office.
It's a dreary and abysmal existence.
If you think hard enough, you can recall a time when the sun would shine bright, and the sky was an endless sea of the richest blue.
When birds chirped melodies and the trees gladly borrowed shade with leafy green palms.
Yet what once was life in technicolor gave way to dismal greyscale, and soon the rains came. What was supposed to be a season stretched on for uncomfortable lengths, and one day you realized the storm was here to stay.
The relentless showering of water upon rooftops, and the continual howling of angry wind was enough to drive a man mad.
Yet you'd caught glimpses of the sun a few times- the briefest moment when the blanket of sullen grey cracked, and for those few seconds, hope was renewed.
Hope that the sun may yet shine again, that the birds may return; the only memories of the storm now collecting in raindrops rolling off their feathers.
It wasn't much, but it kept you holding on, and that's when you stumbled upon the secret place. A hidden corner of the world, somehow untouched by the storm outside.
It was the best and worst thing you could have discovered.
Each visit was a small slice of paradise, a break from watery misery, but your footprints tracked muddy reminders of bleak reality every time you entered. You feined ignorance but couldn't turn a blind eye to what was happening.
White sands, gradually staining with the murky darkness of the storm.
So often you mused to yourself if this place was your savior, or ultimate damnation.
For as pleasant and relaxing as it was, the nagging guilt of leaving others outside as you indulged in relief left you walking back into the downpour with your head down, and heart heavy.
It was impossible to tell if this tropical escape was necessary for staying your sanity, or if it was only a matter of time before it too fell prey to the swallowing blackness looming on the doorstep.
Only the roaming hands on the clock face of life could know the answer you searched for. And if you were honest with yourself, nothing else could quite compare to the way this beachy escape could make you feel. It stirred a long dormant part of you awake, and to lose this secret cove could feel like severing a lifeline.
You needed this.
For a man can only take so much mud and water squelching in his shoes before he slips under the same floods that have claimed so many before him.
"Perhaps, just perhaps, ignorance truly is bliss"
With renewed clarity, you dig your toes beneath warm sands while the seagulls call, and a smile of contentment settles on your face.
When the breeze blows just right,
and the waves crash in tune,
you can nearly drown out the sound of the wailing winds behind you.
