2012/11/18

Squall


Odd how it always passed.  The darkness, dankness, coldness so close.  Stinging strikes to the face. The angry whine ringing in the ears and its echo staying in the heart long after.

Odd how the light could still be seen in the distance, mocking and unreachable. A ray of hope that calmness might return.

Odd how each time past I would observe, waiting for the path home to become bright and dry.  Patience like an oilskin protects . . . up to a certain point.

This time it remains hanging.  I am not looking.

This time she won't be back.


Thanks to The Mag.

10 comments:

Tess Kincaid said...

The echo of the wind that stays in the heart...oh I felt it...

Berowne said...

An entire intriguing story, told in a few well-chosen words.

Brian Miller said...

ugh the tension builds very nicely in this one...and i feel your close in the pit of my stomach...

Linda said...

I love the double entendre of the squall, the a storm at sea, becoming a lover's spat, with adjectives that apply to either. Well crafted, DCW. Your descriptions are hauntingly memorable. Thank you for sharing.

Sue said...

quite a punch of feeling at the end.

well done.

Margaret said...

Patience like an oilskin

That is wonderful!

Dave King said...

I love the economy of this. It makes its points with the briefest of strokes. Very effective. Compelling.

hyperCRYPTICal said...

Beautifully crafted write - so sad she won't be back...

Anna :o]

Sue J said...

You describe the stormy relationship so well.

Gail said...

Very good constructing of hope and hope lost.

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