Regarding The Storm

The sky darkens, and the people look to it with varying expectations. The lights are now set; the stage props prepped. The elements are all actors in the stormy theatre.

The smell of freshness mingles with my damp, greasy hair as I occupy my place in the audience. I don't know where I got my tickets from. Droplets alight on my dome and trickle down the strands in cleansing rivulets. The wool shirt my grandfather gave me gives off a dusky odor as the wetness leaves its texture. I inhale deeply and relish. My body is cooled. I watch the scene.

The rain patters upon the soaked pavement. Ahh, nature's ambulant drum roll. Leaves rustle in chorus. Thunder's bass opera booms throughout the great auditorium, shocking listeners with his control and power and sending car alarms berserk. My admiration for that powerful voice borders on jealousy. It can growl, submit, or rebel. It can frighten, pacify, or forewarn. There is a faithful friend in Thunder's echo. It helps keep us awed audiences sane. Oh, the immutable artistry in Thunder's voice!

And now for the intermission. A quiet interval in which the world breathes. Birds slowly chirp, discussing the scene. All is patience. Thunder mumbles softly in the star's room, but the wind continues to blow. The wind begins to softly caress us with her gentle fingers. Gradually, as the intermission ends, she picks up her pace. At the pitch of ferocity, the play resumes. In this way, she keeps time.

Thunder vehemently returns, bellicose and wild, and the rain responds with whipping torrents. A terrible moaning sounds in the air. The climax has been reached. Thunder roars with all his might. The storm's spine begins to snap from weight, cracking horridly. Yet still Thunder yells. Lights flash blindingly: white veins in the sky's skin. Louder, louder the opera rises.

All becomes still when Thunder's breaking voice bleeds, and he can sing no more. Exhausted, he slowly leaves the stage. Lightning goes after, protecting him from eager fans. The clouds follow alongside the rain. Last to leave is the wind, who counts down the seconds until the end. As it wheezes its last, the tender sun illuminates.

The audience leaps to its feet shouting applause. It was a standing ovation.