by Emily Adams
Today, I battled the elements and nearly lost. But to my surprise, I still remain here on Earth, opposed to whatever cloud I could have been frolicking upon, had the elements prevailed. I live to tell the tale.
On a morning stroll to the local Starbucks, I decided to take a detour. It was snowing, you see, and I felt I best enjoy the powder by way of marching through its fresh, fallen presence. I delighted in making footprints, watching the whiteness melt to blackness under my feet. It fascinated me. Due to severe sheltering, I had never seen snow before coming to Providence. I was restricted to sunlight and happiness—my parents were monsters.
While I made merry, staring fondly at the fluttering flakes, I fell victim to mother nature’s snare. Before I knew it, I was whisked off the ground, picked up, just like Dorothy’s house, and carried into the sky. But it was not a gentle caress, nor a graceful ride. I did not float like the wondrous hot-air balloons of schoolroom motivational posters. I was thrown to the wind, like a needless corn husk on the eve of the annual family BBQ. And seconds later, I was thrust against a nearby building.
I came face to brick with my mortality, slammed into its hardened embrace. It stood, unfazed by our meeting, and helplessly, I fell to the ground and lay at its feet. In that moment, I was surely dead. I had seen the light. I heard the cherubs. They sounded vaguely like Nick Jonas pre-facial hair and clean-cut abdominal muscles. But lying there, rocking ever so slightly, wisps of frosted air tickled my arms. Alas! I could still feel the arctic-cold! I heard distant laughter. I was alive. Alive enough to recognize a young man gawking at my place on the floor, snickering as he did. (To you, dear sir, whoever you may be, I extend my condolences. It seems today, your manners died alongside my dignity. I will put aside our differences to mourn both as soon as my bruised body can bear your company.)
When I regained my footing, I was tempted to phone Bear Grylls. I thought he could offer insight into starting my own adrenaline seeking, submersion-into-nature T.V. series. Perhaps I could put the conventional college chapter on hold. What can I say? A brief meeting with the heavens gave me an edge.
But dreams of stardom aside, I felt humbled by the experience. I walked onwards, believing the elements had spoken to me. They slapped me into the side of the science library and whispered, “Slow down. Don’t get caught up in the winds of chaos, just take in the storm. There is beauty in the eye, if you can make it.”
And that was when I vowed never to take two dosages of Nyquil during daylight hours, and to trust no one.
Image via.