The Deep, Dark Woods

Condensed water vapor collects in the troposphere. Clouds, if you want to name the phenomenon. Sometimes, it's nice to not name things. Just let it be what it is. Condensed water vapor in the troposphere.

You can't see it from my vantage point. In the center most point of the deep, dark woods. It could be sunny up there, above the tree line. That's for the birds to know. I watch them, and their behavior lets me know, a storm is coming.

They sing of the storm. They sing in the storm. They sing to the storm, even. I should transform my heart to a bird that it may sing through the clouds gathered around. A storm is coming. It won't be in the troposphere this time. It will be in the center most point of my heart. One lightening strike to take my life, a second to restart it. How much electricity can I handle? How many lightening strikes are destined for me?

I close my eyes to gather strength. To shift perspective. I can hear the rainfall, but the canopy keeps the drops from wetting my face. My face becomes wet anyway. Stormy thoughts fall from my eyes in their own silent deluge. I open my heart to the song of sorrow, and let it sing away my troubles. Somehow, I feel stronger.

I continue to listen. The storm is steady, increasing in strength, perhaps. But I feel ready to face it. I just have to remember the way out of the woods.