Lying atop a hill, he gazes into the sky. The world spins around, minutes passing by.
The grass is dry but green, the lack of water has not yet started to slow its flourish. Time will bring that. He lies motionless. Arms at his side. Legs slightly spread. The wind blows softly. Gently. Brushing his cheeks with gentle fingers. Reminding him of an easier time. A touch so soft it's presence remains a question. It's existence remains a teasing stroke. Grey rain clouds folding into the light white clouds in such a way this man has not noticed. He continues on, unmoving. The first drop of rain must come as a surprise as it falls and lands atop his cheek, running down to meet with the grass. He doesn't flinch. He still doesn't blink. The next drop falls, and the next, followed by its sister waters. Soaking his face. He goes on unnerved. Perhaps this is a comfort. It allows his tears a place to run unseen. Without judgment. Providing a hidden release to a man who has not known the word in past. He hears nothing, senses no one. But she's there. Kneeling down, pressing herself into his arms. Not speaking. Just accepting him for who he is and what he's experienced. She also ignores the rain, the wind and the clouds. She runs her finger down his jaw line, down his neck, across his collar bone and rests it on his heart. It is there she settles in.