Supernatural British Columbia

The clouds bring darkness, rain and sullen goodbyes. The sun has bid farewell while the clouds kiss the north shore mountains, leaving gifts of snow caps.

We continue to trudge on. The beauty still sparks, but leaves a dark hue on the city. It’s as if a heavy foot pressing on the chest or a tight band on your arm. Hard to breathe while knowing you can survive. Crawling away from your tormentor.

The ocean waves are violent. In an act of rebellion, they crash to cause damage and ignite anxiety. The air is cool enough to see your own breathe. It makes you more aware of how you are alive, and continue to push on. Each bout of smoke erupting from your lungs exhales another possibility of hope.

The sun is kept away, hidden in chains. Similar to a being in captivity, trying to break free, you see a lone ray peeking through on the odd day. As if it were reaching out its hand to grab someone or something. It’s persistence wears down, slowly going back into hiding. Where were you when I needed you.

The wind rolls fast through the city to try and break free of the Rocky Mountain wall. Only it reverts to old ways, quickly realizing it is to be kept on the western front. Red rover, red rover. Not too fast, head back to your side.

We continue to push ice and snow from the landscape. Not welcome here. We have too much darkness to shovel. And the dreaded rain. Bucket hung over our heads, ready to dump at any moment, when you least expect it. Even though you always expect it. Don’t let down your guard.

Water fills the streets, washing the dirt of the season to one side. Prancing on your naïveté. Once you believe this is clear for you to walk, another dump of the watery bucket. Water permeates your skin enough to cause blisters against the soft fabric of your socks. Pull me in closer.

We never think of the sinister planning this mainland has done. To take notes from its sister islands, gauging what it can get away with, or how much worse you can handle. Not to put power in your hands, but that of the almighty clouds. Full of knowledge, overflowing with pain and grief. Why do you cut me down now? Can I not drift into oblivion during a warm, glowing sunset?

Whenever the frustration has been expelled by these clouds, the people on the ground beaten into submission, the land broken and frayed, the sun will find that opportunity to escape. Its captor has fallen asleep, it has escaped the cage of winter, running as fast as hell, breathing so heavily the tears cannot be heard. The sun has jumped on the train, sighed one helluva sigh of relief that parted those clouds so fast that the light shined down making it hard to see.

Life is pumped back into the veins of the city. The foot is taken off the chest. The band is removed from the arm. A rush of blood pushes through like a tsunami. The electricity has been turned back on, we have power again. The waves are calm and inviting, while the repairs of their damage are underway. Forgive me.

We clean the wreckage and find new life under the mess. The butterflies of hope flutter from each dark spot while they clear up. I can hear the music. Loud soothing bells, echoing in such a lovely manner, running down your nervous system to your toes. Like a warm drink of tequila welcoming you back into town. Hug me like you never left.