A Premonition

College - Second Year - Jan 2010

Droplets. They are nature’s own version of suspension; it’s the pause for thoughts to rise in waves. Oh, how interesting our minds must be during conversations. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Topics form cumulonimbus clouds plump with enough precipitation to flood the once stagnant page with blotches and puddles of details. Suddenly, a memory from a past experience becomes relative to the inquisitive thought process; it begins to slow time–to freeze awareness as questions rise higher in scale of importance as do water molecules rise in altitude and freeze in a raincloud. As more interpretations follow, they cause a collection of negative charge.

Crash. A lightning bolt travels abruptly along the chain of presumptuous concepts; it seems to flicker before fading as the mind does as it attempts to let troubles disappear into nonexistence. However, the built up tension turns to confusion and doubt. The storm delays, as if to contemplate if now are the select minutes of opportunity in which it should burst its bottled cap. It gains a second notion, as one can calmly meditate before a rush of inspiration, and decides that this function is necessary.

Droplets pit-pat once more, though now they are grouped in showers. They air is humid with energy, heated in motivation. Fronts collide, and the debate begins to dance and swirl. The wind speed quickens and the force of momentum heightens. A twister forms from the amount of low pressure, sucking the warm moisture to throw up into the extremities of the atmosphere. The liquid tornado builds strength and size as bottled frustration fluxes to rage. Light shows clash about and giant waves repeatedly crash into themselves. As more mass is absorbed into the spiral of emotion and self expression, it at some point breaks into the storm’s core.

This core is calm and serene. One could mistake it for a tranquil, clear, and sunny day. Although the storm’s purpose is quite threatening, the eye of the hurricane sees itself as collected, caring, and supportive; like a warm love. However, this small insight to an outsider is only temporary as the snap and crack of thunder welcomes them back to their imaginary issue.

The thundering boom causes me to wake with a start. As my vision reveals my plain surroundings, I am comforted by the soft caress of a cool breeze and the soft whispers of the wind as it skips through the long blades of grass. Soothing my heart to a smooth its pace once more, I lean back again against the trunk of my friend and recall the dream; I can’t help but ponder its meaning. What could it have originally represented? Something interrupts my train of thought as it splats against my cheek with a frigid temperature. Why, the sky is trickling rain. Droplets.