Excavating the Archives: A Half-Memory of Somewhere

The rain came down in sheets, but that didn’t stop me from walking out of the door with no coat on, my feet bare.  It only took a few seconds before I was drenched.  And yet I didn’t care.  I couldn’t feel a thing.

There I stood, in the middle of the lawn, in the dark, in the rain, looking up at the night sky.  If anyone was to see me they would think me mad, though I was pretty certain I wasn’t.

As the rain lashed my face and plastered my hair to my scalp, I remembered a time before.  I’m not exactly sure when, but before now.  Before this.  Before everything I knew with certainty.  When things were less distinct and more blurred.  Imprecise and ill-defined.  You understand me?

I had a strange memory – a half-memory – of the darkness and of the rain and this overwhelming sense of peace.  That, coupled with the knowledge that I knew of a place beyond the clouds, near the stars.  A place I had been.  Out there.

So what do you make of that?

Maybe I was mad, but that wouldn’t stop me from searching for it.  Just in case…


This was originally posted in March 2018. You can find the original post here.

5 thoughts on “Excavating the Archives: A Half-Memory of Somewhere

  1. Such an enjoyable post, Sammi. I too, love standing outside at night, especially in a garden; everything smells different at night, even better if it’s raining. I don’t have your lovely mystical imagination though.

    Liked by 1 person

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