Fiction
20 Sep 2018


Whether on top of a mountain staring across an ancient glacier valley or low in the wet sand at the foot of an Ocean, the foreboding feeling within our core when a storm is coming is primal.

We're preprogrammed to not fear it, to ignore it and to bask in the veneer of safety the furnishings within our modern world.

But Mother Nature always knows best.

She's been here a lot longer than any of us and in the rythmic sway of her hips, she dances and moves with a sparkle in her eye always ready to remind us how truly powerless we are.

Staring high above, the birds overhead, fly with purpose seeking shelter within the rocks and moss and trees below. The air is warm and calm, the dark clouds coming fast into the valley, consuming the Autumnal light.

Emerging from the heavy mist the sea birds swoop, racing across the waves inland to settle someplace safe to ride it out. The wind and cloud buffet and push and the sea changes its melodic tune, the noise of the crashing waves increasing steadily.

Feet sink deeper into the sand, covering bare ankle to knee with white water pushing inland further and further.

Every other day ... too many choices ... too many distractions.

At the edge of a storm before it reigns down, that silence, that feeling all around is the natural world focusing on one thing.

Survival.

Generations now seek calm outside the noise.

To unplug from an electronic reality into something more real.

To see with open eyes, not filtered, not recorded and not on the screens we adore.

Neon signs scream "Grab a stool and pick your poison - how can we distract you today ? what can we sell to you to release you from the fear of this world ?"

Our quest to take time out, of our time - to slip into dreamtime and escape the slings and arrows of our daily lives is nothing new.

The sound of a nightgale or the taste of lilac wine ? there are many poisons to numb including the embrace of random strangers to fill voids within.

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate" ... abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Dante was wrong.

In this hell, we have to embrace it all, face into every storm, feel every cutting sting in order to feel every mouth watering drop of pleasure.

Close your eyes and remember now. The feel of the warm breeze envoloping every sense and you disappear from this world.

Windows open wide.

The storm raging now, the room flooded by the noise of the rain and the wind.

The moon casts its light through the clouds that are now racing across the night sky.

Two bodies lie naked, pillows and duvets underneath as the candle light dances frantically in the wind.

When she pulls you close, deeper inside her, that sense of her surrounds you.

Her scent, the feel of her body on yours and yours within her and the sound of your bodies moving rythmically as one.

You can hear her breath now in your ear, short bursts as her hips move up and faster, her hands pulling you further within.

You take her in, her face, her eyes closed now, her mouth ajar as she arches her back.

Her legs wrapped around you, her thighs turn to steel as she instinctively grips and holds and grinds.

Pusling and shaking, consumed by her, you and the storm raging ...

Her legs melt slowly around you as her body releases her grip around your body.

Within this room, this place, this moment of time within two lifetimes, this is all that matters.

If we dare to strip everything back, cut it all away, employ senses we sometimes rarely use we can smell more, feel more, hear more and taste more.

We can only do so without fear.

In these places, at the edge of control, facing into the coming storm - these are the places where senses are heightened.

Where we learn to listen.

Where we once again can feel.

Warm winds of Autumn, each storm to be welcomed as Summer's ghosts dance and fade.