I’ve been pacing, and the only reason no one has told me to stop is they can’t hear my footsteps over the rain drumming on the roof.

Or maybe because they don’t want to talk to me, or acknowledge my existence, my patently obvious pain.

No one wants to tell me anything at all.

They’ve been missing for half the day and the river is still rising, the ravine is getting slipperier, and the road into camp is becoming treacherous.

Nothing but rain from an already leaden sky.

Nothing but wind whipping the treetops into a frenzy. They look like demented dancers, thrashing and flailing their arms.

I saw whirling dervishes once, in Turkey. Beautiful Sufi mystics turning in even circles, white skirts swirling, faces alight with the promise of divine connection, one hand turned towards the ground and the other towards their god.

Would it make Caleb and Miller reappear, if I tried dancing like that? If I tried spinning on the spot, my red rain jacket flying out behind me, my wet hair tangling and my sodden bootlaces tripping me? Would anyone understand I was attempting, how desperately I was trying to ground myself and contact the divine, all at the same time? Wound they even know what a whirling dervish was?

Everyone here is all business and crackling handheld radios, as squared off as their search areas. Outside I see their massive pick up trucks with big tyres, mounted with bright lights and brimming with equipment. Sat navs and satellite phones and spades.

No one seems to believe me when I say I told them not to go. When I recall mentioning the roadworks on the interstate, and how their sleeping bags would get wet, and the weather forecast. Always the weather forecast.

No one hears when I ask how long it will be until dark.

It’s like the words are coming out of my mouth but they’re in a foreign language: I speak Parent, fluently, and they only speak Park Service.

Or Paramedic.

And so I pace, trying to match my steps with the rain still hammering on the roof, the words still yammering in my head…I told you not to go…I told you not to go…and it is my mind that whirls with thoughts of Caleb and Miller, still out there somewhere, and their sleeping bags are all wet and did I mention the weather forecast?

And now even I can see it won’t be long until dark…

This has been one of Blue Jai’s Vignettes — where I play with words to provide a pop of fictional colour in your day. If you have enjoyed this post, feel free to click the follow button at the top of the page. I’d also love to hear your comments, or for you to tell me how you would have responded to the picture prompt intsead.