A pisces incarnate

She’s never been a patient person, yet she’s sitting and she’s waiting. She keeps her eyes locked on the sky, consciously widening her field of vision so she doesn’t miss the flash. It might come at any second; it might not come at all. She’s become intuitive enough over time that she can anticipate when, but never where. That’s the thing about nature and all her beauty.

She strains her ears to catch the low rumbles of thunder over the steady drizzle. She knows which direction to turn her head the second the sound reaches her ear. She watches that spot intently; sometimes she sees lightening where she hears thunder. Sometimes. Often she’ll spot the flash from the corner of her eye in the complete opposition direction. Nature’s sneaky way of keeping people on their toes. Unpredictable, always.

She inhales deeply and lets the wet dirt, green grass, and decaying leaves hit her senses both all at once and one at a time. She’s aware of each underlying scent in this cologne of autumn’s defiance. The top notes have the aroma of hope; it’s December yet rain is falling from the sky without apology.

She stretches her arms out toward the heavens and weaves her fingers behind her head. This was the position in which she entered the world, and she fancies that if she’s lucky enough, she’ll be this relaxed when it’s her time to leave. She feels each cold drop of rain hit her like a dull pin*****, the comfort of a tattoo with no lasting regrets. She closes her eyes and enjoys the contrast of the soft night air warming her skin despite the chilly water’s best efforts.

Nights like this she can taste on the tip of her tongue. She consumes the excitement each time she breathes in. She knows she has everything and nothing all at once. This night is hers but belongs to nobody, everybody. Anybody that takes the time to feel, to come to their senses.

She’s always been unpredictable. She sits and she waits patiently