It is a pit of chance. The temptation. Moving towards it slowly, inevitably. Looking for a release. Something you plan for over time, rewarding, the goal at the end of a day. Between the covers. Asleep in it. Awake for it. Alive to it. Wanted from the get go.
Sheets clashed with walls. Wet now, for another day at least. And I leant into the fray, the force of water breaking against my front and side. Lateral. Perpendicular to the slope I was ascending. The joy was in its merge with the music in my ears. The passion was fused with the elements around me. A moment I will never live, lived to the full between the eyes and the back of the skull. Encased in two cups around my ears. The experience of a life time. Never let it go. Pushing through walls of rain. Edge of experience. The storm that cleanses the soul, kings, on the heaths and barren landscapes of this world. Of the north. Of books and fairy tales. One can see why they exist and where they originated. When drenched in the after glow of a hazy morning.
This night dropped fast. And it ends in a similar red fashion. Engaging with another natural force. Submerged.
Every little drop, a voice.