Deluge

The monsoon stalks me. Skulking round corners whilst I busy myself indoors; stays poised while I ready myself for the world. With the click of the key, I hear the patter of footsteps; clouds running across the sky to my door. The dog scowls. "I can't help it" I protest, "Not even the moon rules the rain." The tides answer to lunation. Sentient beings and seasons fall in line with the sun. But the rain answers to nobody. It is an outlaw, a vagabond, a rouge. The muffled light softens my focus. In that other place the sun exposes all things for their harshness; beauty is stark, boundaries defined. Here, I am washed so clean that new life grows over me. My skin blooms with the algae, ever mutating, I am perfecting the art of evolution. Mangrove seeds wedged between rocks send sprouts north and south. I make them my mentor, in this captivity I grasp upwards and hunt below.