I’m cuddling close to my blankets and sheets as a chill passes over me. My toes and fingers are cold as ice, and even in my blurry frame of mind, I can tell that it’s about six in the morning. My biological alarm clock is cruel and hardly ever lets me sleep past 7:30. I groan and rub the sleep from my eyes as I realize that I’m fully awake and there’s no going back to sleep after this.
Though I’m lying in my toasty bed, though I don’t want to move because I’m so comfortable, I know that eventually I’ll have to.
I roll onto my side down onto my bed platform, and land on my carpet knees first. I unconsciously fix my hair out of habit as I do a once over on rather dim room. The black desk that sits in front of me takes up an entire wall is littered with art supplies and a small TV.
My armless leather swivel chair pushed into the opening of the desk is probably the only movable thing in the room that’s where it’s supposed to be. The twin bed is pushed into the corner where my windows meet; it’s supposed to do something with feng shui, I think.
I have clothes everywhere in front of my bed, but not on the side where I’m sitting. My white door is closed and locked; I can’t sleep with it open.
My rolling closet mirrors reflect my ‘world’ in an image that’s nearly perfect. I take a glance at my pretty and petite black guitar that’s propped up against its hard leather case. I’ll practice when everyone’s awake, I tell myself as I crawl onto my leather chair not even a foot in front of me. Don’t wake everyone up, dummy. Don’t wake everyone up.
I repeat this in my head several times over as I notice that there aren’t any birds chirping like there usually is. For the first time of my day, I turn towards my window; I turn towards the sun. But I wasn’t greeted by a warm light. My eyes finally crack open to a room with shades of blue and dark grey filtering through a black window screen. Early morning always turns it into a room of an opposite season; the walls are painted burgundy and tan. This, in the daylight, gives it a rather autumn or summery feel. But this morning is special. It’s going to rain.
I drink in the smell like a glass of water, but I choke because it’s not there. It’s a pleasant, fresh and crisp smell. It’s not salty like ocean-spray, nor is it as odorless as mountain breeze. It’s almost sweet, but you’d never compare it to something out of a bakery or sweets shop. The smell of rain is something different all on its own. It’s not an adrenaline rush that passes over me. I’m really rudely compelled to pour my thoughts out into my paint pallet and brush them onto paper. It’s like I’m being controlled by an unseen force as I perform my painting ‘ritual’.
Pour water from my bottle into my little plastic bowl, bring out my water colors, and grab a pencil. I turn again to a charcoal black sky, knowing all too well that within minutes, the sky will come down. I’ve got to hurry. I quickly sketch down the beautiful scene although I ignore the roads and all in-view suburban areas and substitute what I think the land would’ve looked like 300 years ago. I press my mechanical pencil down lightly where the sky meets the mountains and I shade where it’s supposed to be darker.
The calm before the storm ends right when I’m done with my pencil drawing. It is then at that moment when the sky bursts into tears. I shudder; I can almost feel the anguish the heavens are letting out. I can almost feel the pain. There wasn’t even a warning drizzle. It all started coming down unimaginably hard. My window’s half open, and I’m getting pelted by the raindrops. I rush to close the sliding window. I didn’t close it the entire way; I left a small crack to let in gusts of fresh air. I return to my seat, a little wet, but I’ll survive.
It won’t kill me. As the sky continues to weep, I decide now is the perfect time to paint. I start with the mountains. It’s a dull, medium shade of purple for the base, and I fill in the darker areas with a bit of black. I continue onto the foreground as I begin to fade my dull purple into an even duller green. The weeds, the elephant grass to be specific, goes everywhere in my image, most of it sags under the weight of the water. This is done; and now I head up the paper to my biggest challenge; the tearful clouds themselves.
I cleanse my brush in my water and start off with a light blue wash. I add and add darker colors into my sky until I have a replica of what I call a ‘fading masterpiece. ’ I look at my paper and wait for the colors to dry. I realize that this evidence of a morning shower; this is proof that I too can also bear witness to nature when hardly anyone is awake to notice it. I look around for a weight to put on my picture so I can crawl back into bed. I find a lock and gently place it onto the almost delicate paper. I look out my window again. It’s still coming down.
I turn my swivel chair so that I’m facing my bed and I get up to get back in. As I nestle myself under my white throw-blanket, I listen to the sweetest lullaby I’ve ever heard. It’s the sound of rustling leaves, raindrops against my window, and a cold morning. And by a miracle, I am able to go back to sleep. With the gentle sea breeze softly whisking across the fine hairs of my cheeks, I find myself in the cool comfort of a beautiful tropical paradise. Lying in my straw chair, I allow the ocean sounds of the soft rolling waves to hypnotize my mind into a quieting sleep.
The golden sun casts its rays upon my tired and exhausted body as I notice the pretty pastel colors of the tropical environment. The crystal waters of the Pacific Ocean reflect a sense of calmness as I look upon the water. Longing to swim in the clear ocean before me, I stand up and stroll over to the emerald waters washing upon the soft sand. Looking into the ocean lagoon, I see a whole world that exists under the depths of the ocean. The plants and animals of this majestic place seem to sway like the waves of the ocean.
My eyes are drawn to a scene of sparkles glistening underneath the water. Dancing and piercing through the water, the blue fish are like shimmering metals. Gazing at these beautiful crea As the pure liquid caresses across the skin of my feet, a soothing chill goes through my spine from head to toe and I shutter in complete pleasure. Wanting to just let go and heave myself into the arms of the sea, I decide not to as there is a thirst that blocks my ability to enjoy this scenery. atures, I truly come to understand the innocence and purity of nature.
And with a deep breath, I walk home with a clear and relaxed mind. I ask the person wearing a chestnut straw hat and a colorful flowery shirt to aid me with my problem. My burdensome stress and worries vanish like footsteps washed away from the ocean. Anticipating the moment when the ocean will engulf my weary feet, I tense up with great expectations. I feel a sense of rejuvenation and a surge of strength as this liquid slowly courses through my body. Walking away towards the end of my day, I take one last look at the attractive image of nature and absorb its beauty.
The seagulls cry overhead as I gaze into the blue sky above and notice the puffy clouds gliding across the sky. I slowly draw the cup to the edge of my lips and prepare to be refreshed with coolness. With each footstep, the moist and delicate sand of the beach cushions my restless body. Wondering how it feels to be free like those very clouds, I decide not to worry about myself over such small matters and just relax. However, this nice effort to decorate the drink means nothing to me, as I am more concerned with the contents inside.
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