All is still. Not in peace, but in pressure.
Gray reigns and covers, then overtakes and dominates. The leaves do not quiver. No noise can be heard. There is no movement, fear, joy, or rage.
All is repressed, stamped out, overtaken by gray nothing.
Reaching, but not grasping.
Looking, but not seeing.
Existing, but not feeling.
The tension in the air rises like the a lapping ocean – slowly, steadily. Nothing can be done and the tide is merciless.
Bring the light or bring the storm, but leave me not in this gray nothing. An unsettling calm and unnatural quiet. A fog I cannot see through, a haze in my soul that pins me down.
Bring the storm or bring the light. Better yet, bring the storm and then the light.
Then! Light rips the sky in a flash – the sky cracks, rages, and weeps. Release comes first with one drop then another and another and another. Relief. The sky is weeping and the pressure lifts. The fog morphs into water droplets. The storm is here and the light is coming.
The sky weeps and so will I.