Alive

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The air is alive with a subtle humidity: a warm and vibrant mist permeates the atmosphere of the city I grew up in...

In the middle of the night, I awoke to the sound of rolling thunder, crashing violently overhead. Several times, it seemed as though the lightning struck the ground outside my window, as I figured from the intensely bright light and the loud sharp crack akin to gunfire. It sounded uncomfortable. It sounded angry, and even at times it sounded joyful. Though through it all, in all its mixed emotions, I couldn't fall back asleep for long; it almost seemed as though the world was trying to tell me something.

At work today I waited to go, and I stood just inside the doorway to the patio. The juniper tree across the parking lot shuddered with joy in the ambiguous breeze, it's dark earthly colours clashing strongly and even endearingly against the bright yellow and dull kaolin-clay gray of the building's exterior. It seemed to say "hello" to a world that it had long-since grown bored with, and who could blame it? This town has done a lot to me; as I'm sure to any other person. To see it in the weather we have today is almost like falling into a world and time completely different form our own land-locked landscape. I could even feel the direction of the earth's rotation changing, and then I faced the East, and the sun was on it's way to setting across the deep lagoon of a harbour less than 50 miles away. I felt I could stand out in the weather as the gentle precipitation which came and went periodically returned, and as it fell softly on my forehead and shoulders, I could be transformed into that child that loved this kind of weather more than anything, and laughter would all but overcome my riddled, aching heart and mind...

But perhaps that is wishing for too much?