These are not times for a waking mind

I can feel the heat lightning, impatient, knocking against the walls of the clouds. Is it time yet. Night is thick and so my sleep is thick and some primal thing in me is stirring and speaking to the storm, relaying a message in a language I've forgotten how to speak. I would answer but their communion is too strong.

So my voice crawls back down and coils itself at the bottom of my throat. My tongue can only trace against my teeth, back and forth, pacing in the waiting room, feeling the sharpness of my incisors, the right cut harder than the left.  

There is rumble but there is no rain.

Photo via Christine Mandich.

Comments

[Kim]

It feels like a neverending drumroll to read about that rumble. I've been living like this since March, really, so reading your words--economical and powerful as always--make me want to let go so badly.

Time for a rain dance, maybe. For the both of us.

[Dragonfly]

This post feels like wanting to speak. To let go, to open but the storm is still building. To find that moment of release, to let the truth spill from the rain, thunder and lighting! Powerful!

[Abigail]

Beautiful. Hope you get that reFRESHment of "rain" soon...and hello, btw!

[Roxanne]

I want to join you and Kim on that rain dance so badly. Invite me, please. And continue telling its story so beautifully that I almost don't feel of the anxiety of a tongue on gritting teeth.

[Noel]

@Kim and @Roxanne--The rain dance is on! I can't think of anyone better to do it with. :)

@Dragonfly--That's right. Rain is the release.

@Abigail--reFRESHEment -- I love that!! And hello! How are you???

[tracy mangold]

Oh I'm behind on your posts! Lovely as always, I love a good storm and the atmosphere it provides.