Onlookers watched as the tempest soul spoke to the trembling child. The time for crying had passed; the time for explanation had long passed. All that was left for this time was to exist beyond the quivers, shakes, and tearing the child felt inside. “Hold my wrists, Child” The child reached out with frail white hands. The tempest didn’t wait, immediately connecting forearms with the child. In a voice as quiet as hope, the tempest spoke.“Calm down, shhhhh, ignore the onlookers.” Her beauty and grace captivated the child. “Look into my eyes.” The child looked. In what resembled an ocean wave grabbing the shore, the tempest scooped the child up into her embrace. “This will pass child; don’t worry. Focus on your breathing. Let everything be about this present connection.” Bit by bit, the child calmed. Whatever storm plagued his compact body, it was changing.
When the child finally woke, he was an old man. The dream had passed. The tempest was right. For a moment, the old man wished he could gaze into the tempest’s eyes once more, if only to relive the source of his trembling.