|The Storm (standard:other, 490 words)|
|Author: timster||Added: May 09 2004||Views/Reads: 2066/0||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. Tweet
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