Meshuga

I love storms. Understandably so; love is a strong emotion to equate to something that cowards a dog, wrecks havoc on homes and flattens fresh new perms. My love for a storm isn’t a motivating factor to become a storm chaser; chasing similar dreams to Bill Harding in Twister, but rather a mnemonic force that takes me back to the same emotion I had as a child every time I watched a storm; curiosity. The rain pounding on the asphalt like a stouthearted boxer with nothing to lose; the thunder that throbs, breaking through every mile, stirring us in our core; the lightening that polishes the sky, provoking temporary blindness.

It’s curiosity thats nudged me in the soaking streets to stand underneath the blanketing wetness.

I’ve danced to the thud of the thunder,

I’ve kissed in it’s sweet damp embrace 

And I’ve run from it, only to be found in it’s bleached spotlight.

The sound awakens me, it stirs me and it instigates my inner child. 

I’m sitting within these meek walls, that ‘shelter’ me from this storm, and my body is screaming to run outside. It always has. That’s never changed. There’s no harm in getting wet…..