The Storm (standard:other, 490 words)
Author: timster	Added: May 09 2004	Views/Reads: 3591/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Marching along the landscape...

The Storm 

Blue skies, puffy white and ominous purple clouds fill the heavens. 
Above my earthly world it calls for all to take refuge.  Wind slams the 
changing trees.  Reds, oranges, yellows and greens are bending side to 
side as the progression is made.  Purple thistles still vibrant and 
strong; feel their time will soon end. The season of change will soon 
be upon this place, though the life below tries to defy its strength. 

Hoards of birds scurry to find a safe place to hide.  They know the time
has come for them to find a more tranquil sanctuary.  Soon it will 
become a barren wasteland, a desert that only knows death. 

Above, the last of the blue becomes gray and purple.  Crickets rush to
find shelter from impending doom, but sadly, will not survive. 

The storm marches closer, threatening all who try to brave it.  Rumbling
can be heard in the background. The wind cannot disguise its force. The 
sunlight tries to make one last peep through the gray, but quickly 
vanishes.  A flash of light streaks through the complex heaven.  The 
rumble of wind gains intensity. 

People rush to seek safe haven from destiny that will soon arrive. 
Shelter found in small dwellings may not protect them.  Suddenly there 
is no sound, wind or flashes of light; all has turned deafeningly 
quiet.  People peek out from small paned windows to see if the storm 
has passed.  For an instant, they feel safe from the onslaught. Without 
warning another flash of light streaks across the sky, the cannon fire 
follows closely behind. The storm is relentless and upon the life that 
tries to brave it. 

Tears from above fill the atmosphere, seeing is not an option.  Pounding
upon everything in its path, there is no escape from the sudden rain.  
Water turns into small stones; the heavens above throw anger at 
everything below.  Hell is ecstatic over the wrath falling on the lowly 
creatures.  The wind swirls, picks earthly objects up and moves them at 
will. 

Bending trees, thistles and small dwellings scream horizontally in the
storm, until its chosen path becomes barren.  Will not a living 
creature survive it?  Sounds of pounding and crashing fill the air. 
Everything is changing. 

Stones turn back into water.  Wind slowly subsides as it becomes calm
once again.  Some trees and dwellings appear to have survived; yet pain 
fills the air from such destruction. 

The sun peeps through white and purple clouds, fires strength back onto
the devastation. In the face of destruction life persists.  Dwellings 
still standing have small eyes peeping from them.  Trees that were not 
directly within the storm path still stand with branches and leaves.  
Purple thistles sway in passing breezes though cold will soon end their 
life.  Birds are gone, as are crickets, but both will return as the 
earth warms again.  The process of rebuilding from pain will carry on, 
and so will new growth. 


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