Weathering

Snow. 

I gaze upwards, only to be met by a blinding, exquisite white light. 

Interesting, it really is. 

I peer outside, flipping through the thin pages of my inner thoughts. 

“That font is somewhat strange”, I think. 

Scrambled words outline my charcoal notebook. 

I reach for my pen. Compose. 

Wind. 

Hiding behind a blank, ever-moving canvas. 

Staring at my wooden paint brush. 

Tip, tap. Tip, tap. 

It’s peculiar what to do with such freedom. 

I reach for my brush. Illustrate. Depict. 

Tip, tap, tip, tap. 

My colorful landscape fades from my infernal eyes. 

Rain. 

Lapis rain drops from those dark thunderclouds. 

Looking up from my “fortress”, I prepare for the worst. 

Sheer darkness follows. 

Wandering the distant iron walls, I take my flashlight with me, 

I only trust its cold, concrete grip, and its similarly cold glare. 

Fleeting memories of vibrant colors race around in my head. 

In the midst of the calamity, I wonder, “Where must I be?” 

Sun. 

As darkness enters, light does the same. 

The outlandish aurora of creation has come. 

Sunshine streams through my windows. 

I light the stove fire, and look forward. 

I finally breathe a sigh of relief. 

Another day.