A walk in the rain

Weathered fingers clasped tightly around a flashlight, its faltering beam cutting a narrow swathe through inky blackness. Unrelenting rain drummed a hypnotic rhythm as it pattered on dense foliage, interrupted only by the squelch of wet grass under tired feet. The man kept a steady pace, a tattered poncho pulled tight over his head, following the narrow trail with practiced ease. He seemed in no particular hurry, however, even sodden as he was. Every few minutes, a frog croaked, seemingly always from a few paces off to his right. It seemed he only had the frog to share the night with, every other denizen of the jungle driven to its den by the rain. Rainwater streamed down his face in rivulets, blurring his vision, before disappearing into his long gray beard. But, the man neither stopped nor slowed. He walked, unwavering as the rain itself. Alone, within the immense darkness, he was more sharply conscious of his own existence than he had ever been. His reality was limited to the ground underfoot and the flashlight beam and the future extended no further than the next step. As thunderclaps counted off the passing hours, neither the rain stopped nor did he. It was a contest of will, a man against the elements themselves, and it concluded just as faint wisps of pre-dawn light crept up hesitantly onto the eastern skies. His pace steady, he walked on as night gave way to day and rain-clouds retreated, humbled and in defeat, to reveal clear blue skies. Coming up on a precipice, the man paused, gazing at the vast expanse of green that stretched out below. At the very edge, stood a figure, sodden and haggard, his shoulders slumped. As he turned around, the old man saw a bespectacled, curly haired youngster and figured he must have lost his way during the night. Just then, the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the faintest of smiles on both their faces. Feeling content, the man stirred. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. He smiled. He would write of a dream, of an old man, long since confined to a wheelchair, who dreamed every night of walking. In a log cabin across the jungle, another set of eyes fluttered open. The old man had fallen asleep in his wheelchair yet again.