The aging man sat calmly at the cliff’s edge, the first hint of a squall churning the sea below him. He spread his arms out to the coming storm and fixed his gaze on the horizon, his eyes as cloudy as the sky they looked on. Deprived of one sense the old man reveled in his others, the sound of the sea thrashing, the feel of the ocean wind whipping against his face, the electric sensation of the charged air. All of his remaining senses combined to synthesis one feeling: anticipation.
“Abuelo, abuelo” a thin boy in mismatched clothing shouted as he ran up the hill. “La tormenta.”
The old man half-turned his head, smiling at the young boy. “Yo say miho, la tormenta de rayos esta gruñana.”
The little boy plopped down on the grass next to his grandfather, his breath still trying to catch up with him after his dash up the hill. The old man gazed wistfully back towards the sea and put a hand on his grandson’s back. The dark clouds were moving quickly now, the wind whipping the sparse trees into a frenzy. A long bolt of lightening streaked down towards the grey waters and less than a heartbeat later a peal of thunder crashed over the pair like an invisible wave. The little boy clung to his grandfather, visually shaken.
“Pero…pero…los rayos,” the boy stammered to his grinning grandfather.
“Shhh,” the old man retorted kindly.
“Y…y…tus ojos,” continued the boy.
“Silencio,” the grandfather reprimanded gently. “Dejala hablar.”
And speak she did. The storm intensified exponentially over the next few minutes, small branches cracked off of the trees and rained down on the old man, his arm covering his grandson protectively. His fear finally overcoming worry for his grandfather the young boy broke away and hustled down the hill to the shelter of home.
“Vaya con Dios,” the old man called back to his grandson as the first heavy drops began to fall.
Using his withered old cane for leverage the old man raised himself from the ground, facing the storm on his feet. In his own world of darkness the old man came alive with the storm, her sweet perfume filling his nostrils and her earth shattering thunder setting the beat; the old man danced with the storm, the music of the moment infusing his body with an otherworldly vigor.
For hours the small boy watched the front door shake in it’s frame, for hours he sat immobile, waiting for his grandfather. Finally as the first rays of sun broke through the cloud cover the boy, driven by fear and uncertainty, crept to the front door and eased it open. The world that met his eyes looked freshly born after the crucible of the storm and making his way slowly down the hill of this newly born earth was the old man. The boy ran to his grandfather.
“Abuelo, tenia mucho miedo.”
"Yo tambien miho,” the old man said, embracing his grandson. “Yo tambien.”
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