Thunderstorm

*I'm sitting here at my bedroom window, looking out at the big gray clouds and suddenly I felt poetic, so here's something I've made up right here and now.*

The air crackles with electricity. White and purple strokes of lighting suddenly flash within the clouds, followed by boom, boom. Icy fingers of rain tap on my window, pattering the flowers in our garden with a cool summer spray. I hear the tinkling of the wind chimes in the breeze overlapped by the chur of rustling leaves. The rhythmic thunder slows, now only sprinkles of water are falling from the swollen dark clouds. Wrinkling puddles on the road explode when cars drive through them, but they are swiftly gathered together again. It seems each blade of grass is weighed down upon with a clear, fresh button of rain. I hold my breath as the wind pulls the clouds into wispy ribbons which reveal the last rays of the sun. The last moments of the daytime reveal that pastel pink and gold paint the blushing sky. A tint of warm, golden light drifts about as if the entire world emmits a soft glow. The wind chimes are still, and the trees wrestle no more.

Silence takes the air as we watch night fade over everything.