The rain drives a thousand needles into my skin, sharp as pinpricks, and I raise my face to the wind and welcome the pain. My toes squelch in boots long sodden, jeans dark and soaked right through. The wind screams at me, buffeting and battering as I raise my arms and scream back at it, hairs on end, living through the wild storm, craving it, becoming it.
Tears and raindrops, sweat and mud, a wild human remembering what it is to live beyond the mundane, with electricity in her eyes and exhilaration bursting from her heart. Ten thousand years shout into swirling clouds, how we’ve changed, and yet no, we haven’t at all.
I am the howl of the wind through the trees, I am the sting of rain on bare arms, I am doubt and freedom, pain and joy, past and future. So I dance and whirl and cry along with infinite winds, I soak and pinch and tumble as water wild in falls. I cry out, and my voice is whipped from my breath, carried far, to echo in whispers across the world.