Harsh winds beat at the army of tall pines, striking them with lightning and peals of thunder. From the grey carpet of clouds come torrents of water, intent on drenching the earth. And I am lulled by the roaring. That white noise of a good storm that seeps into every pore of your skin. Weighs your clothes with tears and untold sorrows forbidden by whatever angels still sit above the land.
I can imagine those angels with their cymbals, clambering to high rocks. They throw down spears and stones to create the thunder. The beating of their wings form these treacherous winds that so roil the ocean at times. Such things send an excitement through my veins.
Song passes between the hollow of a wind chime, dancing in its spot on my porch. My mind plants words to the soft notes, and I wish my voice was strong enough to sing them.
Light flashes overhead, leaving in its wake a sea of frightful thunder claps.
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Scraps of A Mind
General FictionUnder my feet is the earth, above my small form is the sky. Both seem endless and vast, stretching onwards forever. In between these things are thoughts, rattling around in my brain like a landslide with no direction. Here are some thoughts, the one...
