The Air After A Storm

By Brendan Stevenson 

Rhythmic breaths escape the chest, panting and heaving amongst that stagnancy.
The silence of this post-apocalyptic chaos is almost deafening, a vision of serenity and clarity stands before us, a scene long forgotten.

The memory of the storm is whittled into our memories.
The theatrical spectacle of thunder and lightning; a cinematic battle of compassion and disaster has now passed.                                                                                                                   No longer do we huddle together in fear as restrictions bolt our doors shut.
Those days were erratic and unpredictable, our endless questioning thrown to the wind.
Entranced we scrolled on, spectated on and switched off.

The first breath of this new day is a jagged infusion of apprehension and relief.
The roots which connect us stand raw and exposed.                                                                This storm has stripped us of the overgrown foliage we once hid behind, leaving our core values on display.
The winds of change have forced us to re-evaluate our societal design and to consider what is worthy of restoration.

I watch the vibrant drops of mildew, a symbol of our salvaged productivity, delicately falling from our fingertips to be consumed by a thirsty economy.                                        The roaring stream sings the song of a day now past, a reminder that the powers of change and transformation live amongst us, and always have.

Today I arch my back to the infinite sky and allow the silhouetting radiance to illuminate me. I open my eyes and my heart soon follows.
The air after a storm is refreshed, gentle and forgiving.
I am refreshed, gentle and forgiving.

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