Stormbreak

The turning point was the erasure of memory, all that followed will not be forgotten. Like a diamond drill cutting deep in the subconcious, not tipped, but in fullness, not denying but embracing, not seeing nor understanding nor doubting the presence of God.
In the air is a water, a flood, tangible and intangible, cleansing and breaking in thunderous appellation. A mist not mystical nor mystifying, but real as the air in which it resides. And sat in a mountaintop or a valley the feeling is the same, of isolation, of camaraderie, of waiting and of consumation. We sit it out, some plan their escape, others revel in it, but all sense it. We're blindsided, we come to a halt. It's been hanging on the very air for some time, but none of us really saw it coming. The weight of the day has decended. Though we stoop to pick it up, it has dissipated. We have lived in tension without knowing it, and all of us came here for the same reason. We were waiting to wait, both knowing it and not knowing it in the same breath, but we all feel it.

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