The sky, though clouded, is vast.
A heaping train of Grey quietly floats North.
As if to be some introductory trumpets, birds begin to stir about and the wind picks up.
The trees dance a solemn sway like they were bidding the sun farewell as a ruffled Cardinal buzzes by in mere protest to the imminent rain.
Then, some tiny muted bells could be heard, small drips start to hit the ground. And as if the Earth had suddenly exhaled, a hazy mist rises from the grass. It slowly entwines all in its soft, cool embrace.
Suddenly, the sky shows its virtuosity when a white, jagged beam tears its width into my vision; it is accompanied by an echoing crash that smites the land in all directions.
A few minutes pass.
Another flash. Not nearly as intense as the first, but equally brilliant. And as the cohort thunder growls once more, a slow brightness begins to fill the scene.
Dull at first, but shortly it is adamant about making this whole landscape golden. I look back at the peeking sun as it winks its goodbye through the line of trees.
As i sit upon this hill, I wonder if these elements are competing to find which can leave me in the most awe?
No, what a silly thought, I am but a spec in this world.
A one-man audience to the symphony of the storm.
*this is not really a poem but its a true story of what i saw as i sat on top of a hill and sought inspiration from nature*
