A writing burst, based upon "After the rain."
After the dry season, the winds grew, the billowing cloaks of cloud arose from the horizon like the cape of an awakening messenger, and the onslaught of the downpour began. It was like the entire continent tipped its face to the beaker of the ocean and drew the first of many thirst-quenching drafts.
So it had been for time beyond memory. The reassurance of the seasons, regular as breath, the land, once parched, now slaked, the crop-planting that had waited patiently in abeyance could step forward and take its place, centre-stage. The equilibrium of sufficiency soon reached. And still it rained.
The land began to groan under the deluge. Streams bulged, distended like the belly of a woman with child until they could contain no more, and burst upon the plains and fields. Still it rained. The ground itself seemed to dissolve into brown paste. Passage of any distance became impossible. The rivers strained at the leashes of their banks, and broke free. The countryside began to disappear beneath the inundation.
People fretted. This was not as rains of previous seasons. There was malice in the air and earth was its victim. The very idea of farming, of planning for a harvest months hence, washed away as concern for the here and now pressed. They started to gather food and think of shelter, the most valuable possessions and of the weak and the vulnerable. But, to the rain, there was no shelter. Its places of reach were legion and escape was for no-one and nothing.
And still it rained.
The rain lasted from sunrise till darkness. Tirelessly through the night it continued, till the grey light returned, forever veiled by the wings of cloud that stretched, heavily, rupturing, from horizon to horizon. The thought of dryness became but a memory, the dank smell of sodden fields, sodden houses, sodden clothes became a universe. Slowly, insidiously, the lower ground disappeared beneath newly-born lakes, whose shores expanded in all directions, while the resorts of high ground retreated, like a defeated army in rout. The people and the animals huddled together in these dwindling places, and animal and man looked from one to the other, united in a common cause of misery.
And still it rained.
It was as if the sky itself had chosen to take possession of the land and make it part of a different regime, one where the old principles and processes were swiped away, where water would rule. It rained and it rained and it rained. There was no quarter, no relent. Any appearance of a slight lessening of the constant drip-hammer was illusory. The rain fell as if with a purpose, and would not ease till it was achieved, unconditionally and without mercy. Rain was now in charge forever.
And still it rained. The last of the ground was consumed by the hordes of wave, invading, taking command but taking no prisoner. Only casualties, only victims, who, one by one, attempted wildly to try to defeat the waters by running into them, only to be plucked from view as their limbs weakened. The rain fell and fell and fell, till every patch of earth, every building, every tree, every living creature was overrun. It rained until the ocean was and the land was not, till there was only water. Water held dominion over all and nothing moved upon the face of the deep.
Nothing of the old order remained. This was the new order. After the rain.
So it had been for time beyond memory. The reassurance of the seasons, regular as breath, the land, once parched, now slaked, the crop-planting that had waited patiently in abeyance could step forward and take its place, centre-stage. The equilibrium of sufficiency soon reached. And still it rained.
The land began to groan under the deluge. Streams bulged, distended like the belly of a woman with child until they could contain no more, and burst upon the plains and fields. Still it rained. The ground itself seemed to dissolve into brown paste. Passage of any distance became impossible. The rivers strained at the leashes of their banks, and broke free. The countryside began to disappear beneath the inundation.
People fretted. This was not as rains of previous seasons. There was malice in the air and earth was its victim. The very idea of farming, of planning for a harvest months hence, washed away as concern for the here and now pressed. They started to gather food and think of shelter, the most valuable possessions and of the weak and the vulnerable. But, to the rain, there was no shelter. Its places of reach were legion and escape was for no-one and nothing.
And still it rained.
The rain lasted from sunrise till darkness. Tirelessly through the night it continued, till the grey light returned, forever veiled by the wings of cloud that stretched, heavily, rupturing, from horizon to horizon. The thought of dryness became but a memory, the dank smell of sodden fields, sodden houses, sodden clothes became a universe. Slowly, insidiously, the lower ground disappeared beneath newly-born lakes, whose shores expanded in all directions, while the resorts of high ground retreated, like a defeated army in rout. The people and the animals huddled together in these dwindling places, and animal and man looked from one to the other, united in a common cause of misery.
And still it rained.
It was as if the sky itself had chosen to take possession of the land and make it part of a different regime, one where the old principles and processes were swiped away, where water would rule. It rained and it rained and it rained. There was no quarter, no relent. Any appearance of a slight lessening of the constant drip-hammer was illusory. The rain fell as if with a purpose, and would not ease till it was achieved, unconditionally and without mercy. Rain was now in charge forever.
And still it rained. The last of the ground was consumed by the hordes of wave, invading, taking command but taking no prisoner. Only casualties, only victims, who, one by one, attempted wildly to try to defeat the waters by running into them, only to be plucked from view as their limbs weakened. The rain fell and fell and fell, till every patch of earth, every building, every tree, every living creature was overrun. It rained until the ocean was and the land was not, till there was only water. Water held dominion over all and nothing moved upon the face of the deep.
Nothing of the old order remained. This was the new order. After the rain.
The end.
2 comments:
Loved this Nicky (sorry for the delay - I'm playing catch up!). There's a lot packed into this short piece. Beautifully written.
Golly! There's actually someone else still out there!
Thank you for the kind comment.
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