Geowalkabout

Tonight, the sky broke open.

Not with invitation, but with a roar.
A wild percussion against the longing in my chest.
I had planned to swim
to let the water hold me the way it always does,
cool and clear,
a place where my thoughts dissolve
and my breath becomes rhythm.

But Perth had other plans.
A thunderstorm rolled in,
winds howling through the trees,
rain tracing memory across the windows.
Each drop felt like a promise I almost believed
a message from someone who said they’d be there
and then wasn’t.

So I pivoted.
No swim tonight.
No surrender to the hush of water.
But I crafted my own tide.

I drew a bath slowly,
steam rising like breath
from a body learning to stay present.
I brewed ginger tea
its warmth a quiet echo
of the laps I didn’t take.

Music hummed low in the background,
mirroring the rhythm of my stroke
steady, certain,
even when the world forgets.

I lay back, eyes closed,
and imagined the water holding me
like truth.

Outside, the storm raged.
Inside, I chose peace over chasing.