Rainstorm

I'd always met her as an enemy before, you know --
depressing, cold, she'd pierce straight through my skin into my bones
and settle there, and leech away my energy until
I couldn't move (or didn't want to, all the same to me.)
So when she showed this afternoon, I cursed and groaned and whined
because I really didn't feel like fighting, not today,
I'd rather sleep, or maybe curl up on a couch with tea,
a book, a purring cat. But no: I didn't have a choice
at all: the clock was ticking, sunset coming far too fast.
I had to go.

Delayed a while. I hung about, annoyed,
and lurked inside the doorway. Then I darted out. I thought
if I was fast enough I'd get away without a fight.
It didn't work (it never does). She let me think it did
awhile -- she let me sneak, pretending that she didn't know
exactly where I was, pretending she was looking out
at something, someone else -- and just about the time I thought
I'd made it she said, "Peek-a-boo!" and opened up, the bitch.

There wasn't much that I could do about it, either, so
I ducked my head, went faster, tried ignoring her. Of course
it only made it worse by irritating her, and then
she really went all out -- cut the big guns loose and slammed
me with them all, and struck and flailed my back and shoulders 'til
I couldn't take it -- cried Gramercy, showed my neck, sued for
surrender. Maybe that got through, because she lightened up
for just a moment, gave a bit of breathing room before
she started in again. I didn't bother fighting, then.

And maybe that was it. It must've been, because -- it changed.
She didn't stop, don't get me wrong, but she gentled just enough
that I could catch my breath and wonder what was coming next.
Turned out it was my friend, the one who'd made me shriek with joy
since I was just a kid, and still would make me laugh and bounce
whenever he'd the chance. And now he tickled through my hair
and blew across my face and shoved me hard enough that I
came just this near to falling down, and started teasing me
for running (or for trying to), and I couldn't help but grin.
If he'd teamed up with her, I thought, she might not be all bad.

I realized they were playing games around the time she dropped
the shadow-cloak she always wore and light shone through behind,
illuminating all her guns and fortresses and fields
and clearing out the fog ahead. It worked some alchemy
upon her bullets as they flew, some transmutation that
caught all of them while in mid-air and lit a diamond spark
within each one: the air was filled with arrows made of light.

And I'll admit to laughing. It was gorgeous, like a thing
you only find in magazines or on TV or in
a calendar, and even though they both were shoving me
all kinds of forwards backwards side-to-side I couldn't look
away, just laugh.

Then I looked up. She'd spread a glowing flag
across the sky before me, blazoned all with hues almost too bright
for words. Above it was a smaller band that shimmered like
an echo or a memory, all flower-pale and faint.


So that was that. I went back home -- it wasn't a retreat
this time, I didn't fight, I danced instead, all glowing. But --
you know, I'd always met her as an enemy before.

-Saiwe is back home. He was on three meds, but the Dr. Kahler declared him healthy enough to stop one of them on Tuesday's checkup. Attitude-wise he's back to normal, or at least as normal as it gets while he's molting.

-For those who missed the memo, I'm not living with Mom and Dad any more; I am instead at a duplex near the university with a couple other people, and loving it.

-I got a gorgeous and very sweet cat along with the move, but he doesn't care for being photographed. I'll post pictures of him when I can actually get them.

-I've been doing a lot of crochet work, for various reasons. Mom, you really ought to like what I'm working on now. I might just have to give it to you before September.

-I finally found my harp tuner. I won't say I'm going to play it faithfully, because whenever I say that I don't, but I will say that I no longer have fingernails, and that my fingertips are developing (gasp!) calluses.

-Choir = love. Hand-bell choir = love + headaches.

-I have a bevy of older Assyrian ladies conspiring to get me a boyfriend. It's somewhat frightening, but mostly amusing.

-I have 23 units next semester, and I alternate between eager anticipation and dread. I suppose I'll settle on one or the other a few weeks into term, but I'd rather know now. Don't tell me I'm crazy: it's been said a number of times already, and at this point probably won't change a single thing. It might get an eye-roll, though.

-I continue to fuss over my list of telcoms, weres, vampires-that-really-aren't, and the associated 'verses.