A monk stands alone at an ancient temple in Southern Thailand.
A storm is fast brewing overheard. I spot the solitary figure just as the winds begin to pick up around me.
I am standing on a temple adjacent to him, watching as he raises his hands out in front of his chest and holds perfectly still, despite the chaotic atmosphere.
We both know that heavy rain is mere minutes away, yet we both stand observing, watching, waiting.
I remember a magical feeling in that moment, something about the ethereal beauty of what I was watching.
Something about his calm presence in the distance amazed me, even as the sky above began to thunder and tear.
It was no longer a storm to be feared — in fact in that moment I welcomed it’s fierce beauty.