The Ripple of Inspiration

Okay, so a lot of you know that I haven’t been on here much lately, really at all, hence the title, and I bet you’re guessing what that reason is.

For the last couple of days, in my town, it has been raining quite a lot.  Today, I was outside (God knows why) and I was sitting watching the rain fall into slowly growing puddles.  I watched these puddles ripple as the rain fell.  There’s something graceful and curious about rain, especially when you watch it really closely, when you give yourself enough time to watch it and not just watch from inside but actually listen to it as well, you can see everything magnificent about the rain and see the brutality of it all.  Rain is not kind.  It is patient but it is not kind.  There is something gentle about rain of course, but like any form of pressure, it starts to bruise if it is repeated.  Over and over.

That is how I am feeling at the moment.  Even a small amount of guilt can bruise over time.  There is a pressing on my nerves.  Stories untold, ideas not expressed, and poetry withdrawn.  This is what I am doing to myself.  And, just like the ripples of water, the pressure of inspiration needs to be released and if not released naturally, it will bruise.

Whether it is the adjustment to winter, or because of the sudden change in my life, the lack of inspiration is hindering on my mind.  It is there, it can be done, but I need to see it to be able to let it go.  Put the pen in my hand and just let myself go and the let the ripple of inspiration begin.

So sorry for annoying you all with this melancholic post though with it I guess I am trying to inspire myself.  And hopefully you may get something from this, too.

Hope you are all well, and thank you all again for the support of this blog.

J. A. Weymouth

He Saw Her in the Rain (Part 1) – Short Story

This is a sweet little story I wrote a little while ago. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Part two will be up by the end of the week.

He Saw Her in the Rain

(Part 2)

By J. A. Weymouth

He saw her in the rain when he was walking along the breakwater.  It was pouring as he looked over to see the waves lick the wooden stumps.  The waves moved in such desperation as if they longed to be a part of the land.

The sea’s ferocity moved him as he contemplated nasty thoughts.  They were inside his head and they were screaming.  But then he saw her in the rain, as he was about to jump hoping to become a part of that foreboding ocean.  He relished the thought.  He was going to become a part of something greater.  The most powerful thing he could think of.  Not some ridiculous human life.

He didn’t see her at first.  He heard the soft pounding of thick raindrops.  A rhythmic tap tap of rain falling on an umbrella.  It was the fussy sound that drew his attention. They were beating her umbrella as he turned around to see.  She wasn’t close either.

He turned and saw wellingtons.  The bright canary yellow stood out in the gray.  They were splashed in mud.  He couldn’t see her face it was covered by her umbrella.  He also noticed that she was slightly bent over.  Her back and shoulders were straight but it seemed she was looking down.  He saw a puddle at her feet, but whatever fascination she found in the puddle puzzled him.  What was she looking at?  He wondered.

He hears her sneeze and she bends closer to the puddle.  She pulls up a ring.  He sees it glitter.  Sunshine manages to escape through the thick of cloud covering her shoulders in a soft, warm glow.  It showers her face.  He sees it for the first time.  He thought she was beautiful even as she stood without protection from the rain.  The raindrops highlighted the paleness of her face and the blueness of her eyes.  Her umbrella left forgotten at her feet.  The attention was focused on the ring.

Blue globes look up.  He notices her noticing him.  All previous thoughts on the breakwater disappear as she gives him a pensive look.  She begins to move, walking closer to him.  He sees her put the ring in the small of her pocket, smiling up at him.  Her hands slid into the inside of her woollen jacket for warmth.  He felt nervous.  Her moving towards him made him cautious.  He fidgets suddenly forgetting why he was there and thinks of turning his back to her.

He didn’t.

The rain had stopped.  She is much closer now.  He could see her clearly, only a few feet away.  Chestnut wet hair clung to her face.  Now standing before him he could see her panda eyes masked by milky mascara, her lips pale and shivering.  She smells of oak and cinnamon.  He sees her hand move.  Up and open.  There sat the ring.  She nudges her hand towards him, encouraging him.  He takes out his hand and opens his palm out to her.  She drops the ring into his.

“Happy Tuesday,” she says.

He can’t find any words.  She is behind him now walking away.  He doesn’t look at her as she leaves instead he looks at the ring.  It’s a plastic cheap one, something a young girl would wear.  It has a light pink band and a diamante in the shape of a heart.  He suddenly decides the sea is too deep and too cold for him.  The thought of home was more comforting.  He would sit in front of a warm fire as he daydreamed of blue globes and wet chestnut hair, while the smell of oak and cinnamon still lingered on his mind.  He turns around and she’s gone.  He thinks he’ll keep the ring as a memento.  He didn’t feel like killing himself today.

That was when he saw her in the rain.

~~~