Home is unknown and vague, like crashing waves after a rain. The power is enough to make me remember all of the houses in which I grew up, all of the towns and cities I’ve called home, and all of the people I left behind when I moved somewhere new. Movement, change, reinvention. These seem to be the themes of my life. I have no place to call home anymore, because the domicile in which I currently reside is strange to me. I’m physically here, but my post-graduate existence is feeding in to my ‘anywhere but here’ mentality.
Soil – to make dirty. Worms crawl through the dirt we fall in as children, happy to make contact with earth and its mineral substance. Back when we were tabulas rasas, our lives revolved around catching butterflies, snack time, and make-believe. The only difference between now and then is that we walk on concrete. I’m a true believer in the effects of the mediums on which we walk. Those who walk on soil are more in tune with nature, while those who walk through the concrete jungle are pawns of that masterful steel chess board.
Rain, the most cleansing of all weather combinations. In a storm, you can embrace the sheer monstrosity of the currents, or you can sit inside dry and never experience the tempest. Nothing is as raw as feeling the thunder in the marrow of your oft-forgotten bones. It’s detox for the non-believers, rain is. Stand outside and soak it in, run through it, feel the icy pricks on your skin and know that you are alive. For the first time in a long time, flow with the gales of wind and be free, even if it’s only for a split-second.
This is your prerogative. Even with gravity and physics acting upon your body, you are exercising your free will, and no one is stopping you from rolling in the wet soil when you reach an attractive field. We’re only human, so why not indulge our animal side every once in a while ?