As the talkative, but yet beautiful flowers of my garden swish in the winds strength. There comes a storm. Fierce, blowing through everything in its path. As it gets stronger, my precious garden becomes weaker. As the path is being demolished, like the roots of my flowers,it grows immensely, but finally stops, leaving a calm. Peering around the street, I stand there, seeing my idolized flowers blown to shreds, I stand there, contemplating how my gorgeous, meticulously planned garden was a complete reck. As I wait for the intense wind to calm, I see one flower that stands alive, after all that fury, I contemplate it's beauty, it's flawless petals. As I sight in relief, I knew the storm was never gone after all.
