The Building of Storms

I felt it coming like I always do. The clouds gathering. The atmospheric pressure building. Now I bolt down the hatches and tuck in to watch the storm. And try to afford myself some leeway. Some grace. Some space to breathe and be a jerk all by myself if I need to be. 

It feels so heavy in my body and head and emotions; the heaviness in the air. It’s terribly uncomfortable. And even though I’m aware of it I still want to lash out like a frightened injured animal sometimes.  

But now, instead of trying not to spill the full cup in my hand when I sneeze, I set the cup down and let the sneeze have its full force, it’s full realization. It’s releeeeaaaassse. 

That’s what’s supposed to happen anyway. Instead of spilling. Instead of starting a fight when I know I’m on the edge and already sharpening my sword (it’s courteous to let the opponent know when a battle is about to ensue). 

Now, instead, I wrap myself in my invisible cloak and disappear to a quiet corner of the wood and take my comfort in the bottom of a coffee cup (except I water it down. A lot. Otherwise I get hyper. Think dragon crossed with a squirrel).

And there I will stay until the storm passes.

Until the release of the rain. The parting of clouds. The return of the sun.