It is raining. In the dark, I do not see the rain falling – but I can hear it as it falls on the leaves. I can hear the water gurgling through the gutter and the distant hiss at the outlet towards the back of the house where it gushes out into the drain. In the darkness ahead of me, every now and then I catch a glint as a blade of grass bounces in the rain to catch the light from some distant street lamp. The air feels moist and cold.
A clap of thunder breaks the silence. In the light I see the towering columns of clouds threatening to continue the deluge for an eternity. The cane chair I am sitting on creaks in protest as I settle down more comfortably, lean back and try to catch a glimpse of the ceiling.
Above me, I can barely make out the wooden paneling of the verandah ceiling painted white. The roof above slopes down low – to keep the incessant rains from spattering on to the verandah. My feet feel cold on the dark red cement floor and I prop them up on the wooden railings, polished by age, as I reach out for a cup of tea that I know to be there on the table.
The warmth is comforting. Instead of taking a sip, I hold it in my palms for a while, soaking in the heat. The aroma of the tea wraps around my head – it is almost a physical presence – warm comforting. I take a sip and let myself sink deeper into a state of emptiness. No thoughts. No feelings. No desire move – blink even. Only breathing. Just sitting. Just being. Comfortably numb.
Blame it on inception. I dreamed last night of such peace. I could almost smell pine in the air.
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