Before the Storm

I love that moment before the storm.

The world is a grey, gloomy mess, the harsh, excited wind stirring up dust and debris everywhere, allowing the curtains of every house to flap around like raging idiots. The trees are alive, swaying around like menacing beasts int he sharp tug of the wind. The grass is a like a crowd on crack doing the Mexican wave.

And then the rain comes.

It slams its loud, demanding presence down onto the earth in torrents, wiping away any last sign of that raging debris in the air, weighing down on the suddenly fragile-seeming trees that buckle under the immense weight of the pouring rain. The world is still gray - only a lighter, hazier hue, like rapidly moving fog in the air.

My world is crisp, clean and comfy, and as the world is seemingly ending out there in the demanding harshness of the rain, I am here in my room, watching its familiar menace like a fascinated stranger.