Through the Gale

She looks out beyond the window, searching for flecks of radiant light to flash quickly across the sky. The deep darkness hovering over the town lingers thickly, determined to remain. The rain falls heavily, wind forcing its path sideways across the buildings, forming rivers of fast flowing waters in the street. She sits and watches while the storm rages on outside. Lightning illuminates even the darkest corners in her office; shadows bounce back and forth across the windows and walls, painting shadows upon her face; thunder rattles the windows and shakes her to her core.

Yet still she remains while the storm thickens, standing openly by the windows so as to watch the tempest unfold, walking steadily through the gale. As the storm starts to subside at the end of the workday, leaving only a light rain behind, she grabs her belongings and walks down the cracked sidewalk and uneven bricks to her car, a hot mist rising from the pavement. Water kicks up upon her legs, soaking her shoes. Raindrops fall across her skin, the wind blows her frizzy hair about her face, sweat glistens on her forehead, and she smiles.

(Afternoon rain showers and thunderstorms happen quite often in the Florida summertime. I now have a deep respect and admiration of them, to which I say, embrace messy hair, and live during the storm.)

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