The rain drowns out all other sound, the gray drowns out all other color, the cold drowns out all other sensation, and a deep, welling sadness drowns out all other emotion. My cotton hoodie is soaked through, sticking to my body in places and chilling me to the bone. Yet I refuse to shiver. Do I already have hypothermia? Am I encased in a block of ice? I do not know. I can’t feel anything. Not the marshy, wet, sucking ground beneath me, and not the rough bark of the tree at my back. When I look up, I lift my head just enough to peek out from under my hood, and all I see is gray; gray tumultuous clouds, gray deadened grass, gray rain coming down in sheets, pounding me until I chip away like a block of stone at the mercy of the ocean; I am turned into sand. All that is left of me is the soggy residue of a spirit, no fire left in it to burn, no warmth with which to hope. I am numb, and my head sinks back to my knees.

Through the cloth of my hood, and through my tightly shut eyelids, a light shines. So bright! It seeps through my rain-soaked skin, my etched away body, and acts as a defibrillator, jump starting my spirit. I begin to feel again. The first sensation is pain, my whole body burns from the cold, and the water suddenly begins to steam off my clothes. Somehow, I muster the energy to stand up. At first, I use the tree for support, keeping my eyes on the ground. I lift my chin, and let go of the tree. As I take my first few baby steps, the world seems to transform. The grass turns from gray to green; the clouds dissipate revealing a brilliant blue sky. The tree grows buds; they flower and then burst into rustling emerald green leaves. And most of all, as I gain my confidence and start to run, the sun, a shining golden orb in the sky, lifts my feet from the flowering meadow and pulls me upwards, I am soaring.

I reaching into my pocket and pull out a pair of glasses. I slip them on. The world turns rose-colored. I am alive.