A storm squats on the horizon.

It lingers there through the morning, promising nothing.

I catch glimpses through the tall buildings as the morning wanes.

It grows when not watched. Vanishing for an hour only to reappear, grimly marching closer.

It threatens between meetings, growing in my thoughts as it encroaches.

I imagine it as a slow giant, creeping menacingly towards me.

I see rain fall like a veil, a shadow engulfing the outskirts.

The grey wall blocks all sight, and I imagine what it is like to be so completely surrounded.

Occasionally I see the depths of thing illuminated, the heart of the storm beating with a sporadic and incomprehensible power, insides briefly shown like organs through translucent skin before they are hidden again, unknown and obscured.

Others notice, and I watch it grow in them also.

I see the worry in their eyes, the thoughts altered by the ever growing blight above.

Are the windows closed? Can I change my plans? Will I get home safe?

Wind rattles between the skyscrapers like a call to the grave.

The stalls in the square close early, shopkeepers rationalizing an afternoons sales lost.

People talking in the street stop and each decide quietly to abandon their conversations.

Cats slink to predetermined hiding places, birds scattering to their roosts and the hope of shelter.

The storm nears, and the city quiets.

The storm is almost upon us as evening approaches, and I prepare to leave

I walk outside into a premature darkness, eyes drifting upwards, searching for a glimpse of clear sky.

The smell of rain hits me like a forgotten friend,

It fills me, with fear, with uncertainty, with anticipation.

My eyes open wide and my breath catches.

I breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with air so fresh I almost can't stand it.

For a moment, as the storm hits, I become one with it.

I experience it all, all at once. I hear the thunderheads above, steadfastly rolling on. I know the raindrops hurtling through the air in a somehow graceful dance. I wash down the parched streets in a thousand little moments of freedom. I feel the dried scar of monotony peel from my soul as the city is washed clean.

But only for a moment.

The rain soaks me, and the cold shocks me back to reality. I scramble for my umbrella, racing for the subway and safety of cold lights and mechanized familiarity.

But I don't forget, that one moment when life slipped away and I stood at the mercy of the world.

That one moment when I lived again.