54 Open Weather Dylan Grundstrom April fools had passed, but the clouds came back for a second day, while the blooming fields and meadows began to lament. The window allowed a breeze to reach inside while the curtains shifted around, moving with the pace of nature. While the curtains danced, the man watched from across the room, while light seeped inside the dark room. Blinking as he sat in silence, his concerned look had become an apathetic sadness. Moments are fleeting, and the man watched them continue forward, recklessly abandoning any care he had for them. Standing up, he walked across the creaking wood floor and leaned against the window, seeing all that had been outside. Inhaling deeply, he felt tears well in his eyes. Exhaling, he shut the window firmly, looking down as he did so. * * * When life had allowed the man to live, he enjoyed his time in the clear green touch of nature. Spring was an emotion, not just a season. A time of feeling allowed the man to become more connected with himself than ever before. Living for no reason was much different, as the only reason he felt alive was in order to exist. Open to more than life, he was open to the weather. The full range of nature was a beautiful experience that required his attention. He was a man of open weather. When it rained, he stood in awe, looking up at the flashing skies, turbulent but calming. Rhythms of water dropped upon him and his surroundings, breaking the silence and filling the void with the voice of catharsis. At least, the clouds seemed to change after the rain, releasing everything that had been held in for so long. Summer and spring were treats that the man of open weather enjoyed, but did not care what difference it made. There was no difference to him, as all the life those seasons had to offer was given directly to him. Life was enjoyed through seeing past the storms, it was about seeing all that Nature had to offer. That was, until winter came. Life became still and silent while the snow fell, freezing the progress of the year. The nature he enjoyed so much had disappeared beneath a blanket of snow. The soft, calm, collected, and misshapen touch of nature put him in a different state of mind. The sweetest touch had become a cold pain that made him sore. Nature seemed to have a cruel sense of humor, tearing apart the man of open weather. Her gentle kiss was an unwanted gesture the man could not avoid. Winter was in power, and all the man could do was watch and wait. Though he had once loved to do so, she had changed. * * *
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