The tempest

As blue skies turn dark, a breeze turns to a gust, a gust to a gale, and normally calm waters turn into a churning demon – a storm is coming. Peace and serenity is replaced by chaos and calamity.

I love storms, I find them magnificent and tend to bask in the havoc they wreak upon the earth. You can smell a storm long before you see it, the moisture carries on the breeze that is towing the storm in its wake.
With the smell of rain fresh in my nostrils I stand, gazing into the sky to get my first glimpse of the coming tempest.

You hear the beast only after you’ve smelt it’s sweet aroma, the deep guttural rumble of it’s pregnant belly. Like the roar of a lion it carries over miles to finally warn you of it’s approach.
With a supernatural swiftness it engulfs the air around you and the sky above. There is no escape. The storm has arrived.
Lightning lights up the sky. The crack of blue whips leaving white scars upon the grey flesh of the clouds, and as they cry out in agony they can no longer contain the great torrent that now falls from the heavens.

Drenched, I stand in the deluge and with closed eyes I listen to the grand orchestra playing around me. The storm, the maestro conducting it’s brilliance.

I revel in the chaos a storm creates as it is the only thing that can calm the beast within, another storm as swift and ferocious as any other. The storm I fear most – my anger.


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