The Age of Rain

I had been buried alive.

That much became clear, fast. I’d awoken to an overwhelming weight, evenly spread, initially not unpleasant but pressing and across the full length of my body. My feet forced into pointed toes, my core enveloped, arms pinned, spine restricted, neck and head held in place. The ground packed tight around me. But the earth above, there was some movement there, only slight initially as I noticed my effort to breathe, and then the inhalation of dust as I tried to draw in a deep breath. No, shallow was better, less risk of choking. I could not open my eyes but I could hear, and sounds in the distance showed I wasn’t alone, the beat of hooves, many, on damp woodland earth and the faint trickle of a brook, or river? It must have been low tide or a small breakaway, as there was no rushing just the gentle trickle of mountain water travelling into the limbs, then fingers of the forest.

Bringing my attention back to my situation, after several slow, measured breaths I tried a wiggle, up and out at first. No success. Then side to side, more luck. But where space appeared, stoney dirt flooded the gap. Gentle movement now, in time with my breath; breathe in, press my hips to the left, breathe out, push them to the right, again. No hesitation to allow more earth to tumble in. Repeat. Repeat. I finally felt cold air splice across me, my stomach up toward my chest, I desperately pushed my chin forward and up, again, again, the effort stinging. Do not give up. Again! Finally my chest and face breached the ground, I roared into the now silent woodland. Hungrily gasping as much of the fresh cool mountain air as my lungs would allow me, tears etching my dirty face. Shaking, I looked down. I had indeed been buried, the earth around me was disturbed, a chestnut brown circle surrounding me, harsh against the green moss of the woodland floor, no effort to hide me, evidently rushed. The sound of hooves had disappeared, and I was alone with the water and woodland.