The Rising Tide

The calm before Storm Barra

Very calm ... relaxed ... too relaxed?

The prospect of high winds and heavy rain ... we check;

no overhanging trees
drainage looks grand

We sleep the sleep of the calm.
Steady, rhythmic breathing.

Nature calls ... Mrs Feasts answers; hops back into bed.

The rhythm of sleep returning ... waves of gentle breathing, lapping against the shores of our consciousness.

Lapping

lapping

Literally, "that sounds like water lapping against the van. What the actual heck is happening?"

Lapping.
In the dark.

The dark tide, rising.

The salty surface glistening in the light of the torch as Mr Fables splashes through and leaps into the driver's seat.

No time to warm the engine, the water will be cooling it soon enough if we don't move NOW ... inch by inch, heart-stopping foot by foot ... we're there ... bloody hell, no we're not ...

Onwards, higher, keeping the revs steady even as the blood pressure thumps unsteadily in our throats. 

We're out, clawing for higher ground

higher
higher

... haunted by the sound of the lapping water

The inky grasp of the high tide shaken off before its fingers close tight around us

Higher still

Hearts slowing
calming
calmer

calm

∞

Words by Barrie Thomson

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