This is the Way

Flutters of pellets landed on the window pane in monotonous rhythms. - photograph by Markus Spiske raumrot.com - CC0 License -via pexels

BY LAUREN ESCHENBRENNER

Trickling raindrops pelted against the translucent window, a soft tapping noise cascading through her ear drums solemnly. A dim, syncopated tip-tap-tap rhythm reiterated in her mind; the noises augmented the more she focused on the moral purpose of it. The padding of the natural creation soothed her body in a state of tranquility, easing her from all dead ends and harshness.

It was distracting her from the twisted face of reality, and it soon came into focus that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. A time stretch to relax was something she longed for, desired for, impulsed for.

The clouds assembled darkness. A big, grey, empty nothing. The billow appeared to be stationary, roaming the skies with its profusion of rain and rumbles of thunder claps that seemed to be miles and miles away from her. A storm was coming soon, she noted with familiarity, and it was certainly brewing something extraordinary.

For now, flutters of pellets landed on the window pane in monotonous rhythms, being somewhat pleasing to her. She’d glance around for the sole purpose of absorbing the only rain they’ve gotten in months, but would always find herself goggling into space, her thoughts swallowing her inner sense of consciousness.

She was thinking too much. It was evident so. The stills of the old wooden house was stirring with the sounds of hushed silence. She was alone, per usual, and got used to the feeling. She was solitary.

Perhaps she was physically alone, but not emotionally or mentally. She absorbed the sweet knack of imagery that made her feel accompanied by all who weren’t there.

She always happened to cherish this moment.  

But it always passed by in a flash, zooming across her eyelashes that fluttered against her tanned cheek underneath the charcoal skies. The tingling sensation tickled her skin and sped up her heartbeat, the rhythmic pattern becoming altered. The tedious beat of nature’s gift reset the tempo, the desolate perception returning to her once again.

But anew, this is the way she prefered everything; she was serene and finally released of all the stress weighing down on her shoulders.

Nevertheless, the storm would pass and time would commence once more.