It was a dark and stormy night

I hate cliches.

But it was a dark and stormy night.

It was one of those really dark nights, where you can't see anything in front of you. It was one of those places where there wasn't any artificial light around either. It was stormy, so no light from the moon or stars. It was the day of the new moon anyway, wasn't any moonlight to be had.

It was one of those really stormy nights also. You might hear thunder rumbling off in the distance, but the lightning was too far away to make any impression on the dark. Rain poured down in sheets, absolutely drenching everything, cascading down hills, bending the trees, soaking a solitary traveller, trying to find his way.

He didn't know where he was, it was too dark. He didn't know who he was, but that question was not his most pressing concern. He was very wet, and the autumn chill of the night was fully in his bones.

Step by laborous step, he picked his way through a sparsely wooded area. He only knew the trees were some sort of evergreen, he had been stung in the face by the needles several times already. Having no recollection of who he was, he had no recollection of why he was moving in any particular direction. He had the nagging feeling of someone being chased, perhaps even being watched. Who could tell, in this dark and stormy night.

The solitary traveller hated cliches too.

But his first description of his circumstances, it was a dark and stormy night.

Several times his footing gave way. Mud was caked on his shoes. At least he thought he was wearing shoes. Perhaps it would be better said that his feet were encased in mud. This sparse forest was also home to a very sparse layer of ground vegetation. The mud was some sort of clay, of indeterminate color. Not that anyone could really tell color this night. The traveller paused a moment, thinking he heard something other that the sloshing of his steps, the pounding of a hard rain, or the rushing of a gust of wind.

Nothing....

Nothing, but the rain and the wind.

Satisfied of his utter lonliness, the traveller stepped forward again. Right foot... left foot...right foot... left foot, each time hearing the sloshing of his mud caked footwear, feeling the imprecise footing of mud meeting mud, stopping only to alter course when a tree connected with his scratched face.

It was a rather miserable time.

Step by step, he slowly made progress, but with no appartent direction in mind but forward. Step by....?

The footing changed. Something solid was underneath his right foot. Stopping, reaching down, asphalt. Somehow blind luck sterred him into a road. True, this was a road in nowhere, but all roads through nowhere must come from somewhere? Perhaps the monotony of the rain and wind would be broken by a passing traveller, a good samaritan, someone who might help. At least point him in the direction of warmth and food.

Bouyed by the hope of rescue, the traveller worked to find the road's direction. Walking along the edge, he decided to turn to his right. Walking with new determination and purpose, he made his way in the dark. Stumbling occasionally, in those places where the edge of the asphalt had eroded away.

The rain began to slacken, torrential rain doesn't last forever. The wind picked up, nature drying herself off. A traveller in a soggy suit, perhaps at one time of nice design, continued walking as the hint of a gray dawn began to appear.

The traveller paused, waiting for the light, which had been denied him so long.

The light increased, the traveller began to realize his eyes were closed.

Slowly, to not be blinded in the light, he opened his eyes.

To a world of diffuse gray light.

Yet no ability to discern objects, or shapes or direction.

The traveller was blind, but for the perception of light.

Sinking to his knees, praying for an unlikely rescue, the traveller shook his head.

His thought, "I hate cliches, but I think I preffered the dark and stormy night."

Slouched on his knees the traveller heard a new sound, carrying to him over the gusting wind.

It was the sound of a bird call, birds chirping as they come out of their places of hiding to greet the world in the dawn after a storm. The traveller listened for more.

Nothing...

Nothing....

Nothing, until the far away sound of rubber on asphalt, heading in his direction.

Struck by the realization of potantial help, the traveller thought of yet another cliche he so despised.

Perhaps, there is a God.