The downpour hammered the roof for two endless days. I huddled deep within my tiny shelter – just logs, tarps, and hope – as rivers formed outside. Rain drummed a relentless rhythm, wind howled, but inside? Inside was dry, warm, and mine. I listened to the storm’s fury just beyond the thin walls, sipping warm tea, wrapped in a blanket. The damp chill couldn’t touch me here. It was cramped, yes, but profoundly safe. Those two days weren’t about enduring; they were a gift of forced stillness, a cozy pocket of peace suspended in the heart of the deluge. I survived, not just dry, but strangely content.
