The skies, paved with dark clouds; making way for the lightning. One bolt darts across the darkness, seemingly traveling between universes; ripping apart the sky in two, from where bleeds rain. The horizon, a theatre of chaos, a drama of epic proportions; she watches from her window. The roof now begins to sound like a radio gone off the air, the raindrops crashing in a frequency of their own; a distortion so moving, she wants to leap out of herself. The light bulb struggles to stay luminescent, under the enormous weight of the blackness coming, with the raging tantrums of angry power lines swaying and dying in submission to the storm. With the sound of a falling needle, her room becomes shrouded in a dark night of its own.
She turns around to find herself facing a mirror, walks over to it and lines her eyes with kohl. With blinding flashes of lightning outside, she appears a silhouette in her reflection. She turns to look outside the window and in the next moment runs out of her room; her feet thumping down the stair case, echoing in the emptiness of her home. Her beautiful arms fling open the door and she escapes her confines, seemingly flying out into the raging rain. Her bare feet carrying her faster with every step, her skin shattering screen after screen of raindrops, her eyes closed.
With her arms spread open, face turned to the skies; she leaps trying to catch every drop of rain in her palms before it touches her skin; brings her fingers to her lips and tastes the water, tastes abandon, tastes oblivion, tastes freedom, tastes beautiful escape…
She swirls like a ballerina, uncaring, unnerved, unperturbed; spinning around on one toe, her other leg raised in such poise she assumes the lotus. Her beautiful mouth opens in a bloom, her lips; petals of tenderness, quivering under fresh rain dew. Her skin; a warm subdued surface of the Sun. Her breath; rushes of intoxicating nectar, heaves out in gasps, her breasts rising and falling like the waves of an ocean. Her face lined by the kohl, only to too eager to leave her eyes to flow with the rain; she breaks out into laughter. Her baby fingertips make tiny circles on her wet skin, her eyes gleaming; eyelashes lined with gentle wetness; she stands in stillness under the rain now a gentle pitter patter. The frogs, slugs, snails and other children of Mother Moist begin to play around her, as she holds herself close in tears; quaking cries of bliss. She cries harder than the rain clutching on to her skin; wanting to never let go again.
The night quietly goes to sleep as the cracking dawn ushers in a new Sun. She begins her long journey back home, to a breakfast of steaming porridge and cup cakes. A breakfast, she will always remember.
2nd October, 2011