The storm...

A blissful sunshine day, glazed with dew and brilliant with the artisans hands of nature. The splendor of the sun's introduction of a new day, a day that promises opportunity and progress. This is suppose to be a beautiful day , its suppose to be bird lullabies with the green grass that moves with the rhythm of the wind. But suddenly the wind becomes harsh, its hostile and cold, the grass quivers in its reckless presence and it progressively becomes aggressive. The blue skies are shadowed with dark, ruthless clouds that seem to devour every stray of light. And so it begins. The low growl of prowling thunder, its heavy steps across the sky shake the earth beneath it. The animals flee and the trees dare not look up, the gray mass is bloated with anger and seeks to inflict fear. Why? I cry. Why must it rain on such a beautiful day? But I dare no tempt this storm with my complaints for it only feeds the gloating destruction. I observe as it pours it grief upon the dry earth, flooding every crevice and crack. No mercy is known on this land, it pours and pours and pours and pours and pours and pours. Until the filthy gray mass is gone. I lay, soaked and naked, exposed to its violence. My lungs compacted with storm water, I cant breathe, and yet my mouth is dry and I cant speak. I want to weep and scream but I just lay there , stuck to the cool, damp earth. I feel so hopeless, so powerless, so afraid. I close my eyes and pray for a new day. And then I wake! The luminous sun cutting through my eyeslids. I can see. I can breathe. I can talk. I can hear the tune of the singing bird and the small rustling of the sleepy grass. I touch my breast and I feel my heart thump to the rhythm of the stream. A stream! Oh what a delight! The storm has caused a stream , now I may drink and bathe. And so I jump in the crystal stream and let the water cleanse the tears of the storm. I lay on a patch of daisies and let the perfume impale my skin, I feel such beauty within me. I look around me, Im in a luscious garden of greenery and flowers of every color in the spectrum. Such brilliant flowers, soft and delicate, so fraile Im afraid to touch. But they are mine and I know that, I know these flowers are mine because they structure around me like a halo, as if I was a glowing angel. Resiliante in the light of the sun.