Setting full moon on Friday the 13th smallThere is a storm coming. The air has an edge to it. Before dawn, in the dark, pressure seems to build as the heavy clouds slide over the mountains. Sunlight is still hours away. The stars are gone forever. The night is filled with breezes, whispering through the blackness.  … soft, wet winds tumbling down the slopes and over the sand which shines in the broken moonlight, rustling the desert sage and sweetening the air. There is a storm coming.

No real light yet. Nothing to pull the day apart, until the sun begins to break up the landscape. Pieces of the full moon flicker here and there, but never last long. From oceans on the other side of the world, water rolls around the planet. I am here, now, waiting for the rain.

The wind whistling across the sand is gaining weight. Tall palm trees, silhouetted against flashes of white light, bend in deference. Above, the darkness is separating into shades. Ribbons of the lightest blue ripple across the sky, behind huge chunks of grey. The whole world seems to be opening up, as if nature itself were about to break. As the early slivers of sunlight, seemingly carried on the wind, pierce the blackness, a sky appears, from nowhere.

The rush of light is interrupted on its travels, bounced and bullied by big, black clouds. The rain is about to take over. As light, here and there, falls across the landscape, a shine, a sudden reflection is caught in the distance. Far away, in the middle of it all, some lines …  a shape assembles out of nature’s mess.

By the horizon leans a battered billboard, crippled by the weather. Letters from words litter what is left of the face, between bits of a faded picture or two. A bent structure, like the trees, submitting to mighty mother nature. There were colors there once upon a time. All that’s left doesn’t belong. A signpost to another time. Only after it failed to work, did I realize it was a manufactured self.

The sky broke open and the oceans poured new life onto the earth. Shining balls of water blow across the emerging landscape, leaving nothing visible for long. Rain in the desert, light in the dark. Standing up to it can only last for a little while. In the big picture, no pattern stays the same or it wouldn’t be a pattern. Everything starts over, except for what I keep in mind for next time.

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