COMFORT IN SOLITUDE
Past midnight, a boy walks into the dark night, away from storms within a chaotic house. Not consciously seeking peace, he simply steps away from threats and violence away from alcoholic, feuding, hostile, abusive adults. Away from pychosocial complexity. Away from human storms of harsh acrimony and strident accusation. Into the relative calm of a rainy squall.
Into the welcoming arms of nature. Into a sense of belonging. Overhead, a maelstrom of rushing, shifting black clouds. Oak limbs whipping, dripping, bending, sighing; their shadows swaying on shimmering, rainwashed ground. Lashed and buffeted by angry elements, their movement parallels his inner state. The storm reflects the turmoil of his psyche. The trees are his nonthreatening, nonjudgmental friends. They understand his inner clamor. They whisper and sigh with empathy. He finds refuge in this enclosed world of wind and shifting shadow.
The boy loves nights of wind, rain, and the moon in all seasons. He loves crisp, dry breezes in the cool autumn night. He loves icy, penetrating gusts in the frigid winter night. He loves humid, healing zephyrs in the warm summer night.