There is a kind of peace that comes with routine. A familiarity that numbs you to the monotony of everyday life. It lurks in the periphery, just out of sign but ever present. But as I walk my laps, it slowly melts away until there is only the rhythmic staccato of my strides echoing through my ears.

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I focus on my gait, pumping my legs forward on the stark concrete path. I am so fixated on the soothing drum of my steps that it takes some time to realise there is something very different about time. The familiar pairs and groups of green figures, caught up in their own daily rituals, are nowhere to be soon. I widen my hearing to encompass the yard and I am deafened by the silence. Lifting my gaze to the horizon answers the questions bubbling to the surface.

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The sky is bruised. A violent mottling of deep purples and shadowed greys. It fills the heavens defiantly, an unspoken threat of what is soon to be unleashed. Almost on cue, a fierce wind rushes through the prison. It is a herald for the storm and the electrified wires screech and whine under the force. It tears wildly at my face and pulls at my clothing in a vain attempt to steal my hat and send me scuttling for cover. Yet the unfailing beat of my steps will not be slowed by the burgeoning tempest. I push forward relentlessly, congregated by the primal energy crackling all around me that fills the air to bursting.

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The yard now lies deserted. Everyone with any sense has retreated to their sanctuary to wait out the storm. The brooding clouds engorged with water, can no longer hear their heavy burdens and release it from above with a grateful sigh. Sheets of rain, forced by wind, hurtle towards the earth. It whips across my back like a medieval flogging, lashing my flesh and leaving my skin stringing from the precision of its strikes. The razor edge of the elements slashes and rips at any skin left vulnerable and bare but still my march continues.

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Darkness now engulfs the sky in total dominance yet still I stand defiant in the face of Nature’s wrath. Its strength and wild power dances around me untamed and unchained. Through glass and wire questioning eyes observe and wonder why the solitary figure endures the violent weather. The answer is simple.

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The tempest is my twin…

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A mirror…

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The closest reflection to the tumultuous storm that surges within my breast and thunders through my veins. The smothering tangle of guilt and shame that wraps itself around my organs and insidiously contracts. The searing pain that scorches through my bones when I see the hurt in the eyes of the ones I love. The fury and self-loathing that makes me want to scream and howl until my throat is raw and my voice is nothing but a broken whimper.

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In the frenzy of the storm, I see myself equal. It doesn’t judge or set restrictions. It is limitless and ancient and honest and it is here, within the unbridled passion, that I truly am at peace.