She emerged from the tent into the darkness. She was tired and the long walk to the toilet block made her nervous. It was dark and the ocean roared. The caravans stood neatly in rows, beside boats and four wheel drives. The people inside were nestled under warm rugs, cradling hot cups of tea, stained with splashes of scotch. Their televisions quietly flickered in the night. Comfortable lives. The hard yards behind them.
Looking back she could see their tent being flung from side-to-side, inside the muffled cries of her youngest child pierced through the gale. The wind whipped around the camp site. The tent looked so fragile, yet it was anchored in solid ground. The people inside kept it so.
She quickened her steps. There was so much wind. She pushed through it. Her legs were weary, yet strangely she was feeling lighter with every step. She stopped and let the wind wrap around her. She willed away any misgivings from her soul. Any heaviness of heart was being refreshed, cleaned out, uplifted. Moments earlier, the confines of domestic life had been closing in on her. She had felt stifled. Now, she was feeling differently; somewhat revitalised.
Her eyes shifted to the sky. The sliver of a moon, was being caressed by dark clouds. Three pelicans glided across the dark sky, past the stars, criss-crossing in the night. The birds looked too heavy to fly, yet they drifted through the air like the lightest of feathers. They cut through the wind. They sat above it, by it, in it. The wind guided them.
Life can weigh you down. You can dwell on it. You can let the worry eat you from the inside out or you can acknowledge it and then let it blow away with the wind. The windy city.
She stood in the darkness, felt the gusts of cold air blowing around her. She summonsed her demons and cast them out. And she breathed the deepest of breaths. In and out. In and out.
And when she was whole again she made her way back through the gusty night, tip toeing around the many cords which kept their tent earthed. She quickly slipped inside, careful not to let the wind whip through the gaps into the warm haven. She nestled down beside her husband. Listened to the gentle snores of her children and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders.
She was ready again. She was home.
Bianca, you write so beautifully and draw the reader in to the moment. Cannot wait to read your book (no pressure!). x
Love the image of those pelicans.
It’s like I’m there…. (I wouldn’t be though as I don’t ‘do’ camping, but still….)