Stirring

I find myself outside during a thunderstorm. Sheltered within the screened porch. The summer heat has not yet arrived, but the teasing of it from the spring sun during the day, leftover in the evening air. Making the small hairs set around my face curl and frizz slightly. The wind is violent and the rain begs for no permission as it pours down harder and harder. The thrashing unpredictability of nature exciting me deep down. There’s barely any light, but the small glimmer of a tiger lily scented candle I set on the table. My book is good and it’s stirring things within me. The crickets start their song as it reaches ten o’clock and I turn on the kettle for a cup of tea. I want to feel the warmth of it seep into me as the contradicting cool breeze brushes against my skin. It’s on a night like this where I feel intrinsically connected to my existence as a woman. There’s something ancestral about this night. The calm stillness within myself as I sit. The awareness of being completely alone and taking in every sensation. A steadiness in my bones as Mother Nature rages around me. I’m tamed but there’s a wild thumping in my chest. The knowing that there’s something more out there, beyond the trees. The thunder syncing up with the tribal consciousness of my soul. I ponder on how many women have experienced this exact notion since the dawn of time. The softness of our skin taking on the weather, the eagerness in our hearts, the melancholy suggesting that we look up to the sky in search of the moon. A whole world functioning in our minds. These thoughts and ideas, connecting every single one of us throughout all of time. It’s almost too much to bear. Yet I can’t imagine existing in any other way. I couldn’t fathom not being connected to each wave of the cosmos and the silly way we play with it down here on earth. I can’t imagine being anything other than a woman going mad