The Creatively Frustrated

Eyes open and I am gazing out that window and still not seeing. Mind is empty of all thoughts, it’s a bliss rarely found now. Soul vacant of all expectations, a wave of happiness spreads through. Which I yet am unable to feel. And then someone along the way, points at a drop that fell from the skies. How long was the distance that it had to travel from up there, I wonder? How much did it change, from what it was when born? You think too much, I remind myself. That moment where all was forgotten; lost. The drops form a trail on the windscreen. Pitter patter. Stubbornly, it drums down with more force, thrashing on mother earth. What is it trying to prove? Ssshh. I roll down the windows and let the cool wind in. It didn’t come alone; a few raindrops unable to stay tied to the gravity and pushed inside by the breeze did too. A slight shower the entire way as I watch the roads bathe, small bubbles burst as fast as they were formed, lights reflect off the street, rain falling again...

The northern wind blows, Wicked and wild, A gust of dust, some plastic bags, Debris flying like paper planes, Slamming doors and crooked windows, Shattering glass and dried leaves. Foreboding. The clouds up north An angry mass of grey. Twisting, snarling, a flash of light, Few blinks of an eye and thunder. Pitch black, its only noon. It crawls up his spine, the wild wind, Arms wrap the chest, craving warmth. A few more booms up ahead, The God fearer recoils. Pitter patter, the first few drops squeal, Free of their angry cage above, Dripping down dusty window panes, Rain follows forth. Parched, the sand sighs. Branches bow down gratified. The believer drenched now, No shelter sought. Earth lives vividly, The curse broken, The worst, over. Evil moved on. Rain falls gentler, And his belief, steadfast, staunch. Hymns. Sweetly scented soil. The wild wicked wind, Vanquished.