eye of the storm

Meandering - an aimless wander - tracing a line along the sea-front;

etching a path into the wet sand - foot prints - soon to be swept away by the rough tide.

Storm clouds swarm - swirling - above my head, reaching out across the water;

waves crashing through the grey horizon,

sea and sky moving together in a macabre kind of dance.

The charcoal lines of the old concert hall stand in stark contrast to the whirling patterns of the grey

back-drop,

framing the scene; capturing the motion of the clouds rolling behind it.

Water smashes into me, curling around my ankles, trying to drag me away

into the storm.

Pain, like a million shards of ice, clawing at me, trying desperately to hold on.

My feet push through the stabbing cold, carrying me over the stony shore, out of the grip of the waves.

Staring out - across - at the vast, grey expanse of sea and sky -

the storm playing out before my eyes, drowning the sound of the tempest raging inside my head,

the static - buzzing - in my ears;

energy - hot, almost palpable - cloistering, choking me.

Wind encircles me; enveloping me - whipping at my limbs and face - like an invisible cloak,

dark and cold.

I stumble back from the hypnotising display,

dragging my stiffened body toward solid ground, to cower with the rest of the world

- in doorways and under awnings -

waiting for the wind and the rain to move on; for peace to be restored.