Stormy Sleep

Last night a storm blew through the campsite.

Everywhere was the sound of flapping nylon tarps and zipping.

Flashes of sheet lightning momentarily took blue and green snapshots of shadows mid sprint.

Spectacular forks of light like intricate glowing cracks in the cloud above seared themselves into being as a united gasp escaped the lips of those lucky enought to be looking up.

Lone street lights and headlamps illuminated slanted sheets of raincurtains angling into trees and sandy ground. The smell of earth and wet branches rose like smoke from below.

As I ran past one tiny shelter I heard from within muffled moans and the unmistakable high-pitched barely-voiced inhale. A couple, possessed by the spirit of reckless weather, were riding the rhythm of the storm as the wind wolf whistled along.

The night was whispering to each in turn their secret messages.

From afar.

Driven abreeze they now shook loose in rhyming clarity... to wrap the receiver in farflung dreams beneath the chaotic canopy.

I tossed and turned all night as the tent repeatedly claimed to give up cruel world! or tear unshackled from my aluminum stakes. While the moon... a shapeless hidden glow... struggled across the embattled sky, gusts of wind charged my tent from every angle in turn. Like the hands of a clock slowly stalking its center. The chiming bells were periodic cracks of rolling thunder that seemed to rattle your organs from the inside out.

But my shelter held its ground, and I slept dry within.

Something about being at the mercy of unbridled nature has always appealed to me. Testing my fortitude against the onslought of the elements.

Perhaps I see the forces as beautiful mirror images of the wild parts of myself and humanity that are equally halting in their mystery to me.

Or perhaps I just like a good party.

Either way I enjoyed my little storm last night.