I never believed I would value storms so much in my time of living. The sound it makes, the beating of the outspoken clouds screaming at each other. The sudden cackle of a pound of lighting. It was always a wonderful thing.
I knew the clouds communicated to each other, mimicked there cries of bliss as the gust of shivering spray fell down in a sudden movement that was too extreme to express. Every movement seemed to follow in other bleached clouds screams.
As the monsters cry and holler in their own despair it is quiet down below where they can’t visualize beneath them. It grows silent on solid ground; nothing dares to speak over the clouds fearing of another loud clash. No bird taunts to sing a song, no cat challenges to whine, only the blossoms and meadow swayed to the singing cries of the clouds.
And then time discontinues for an instant, as the mighty beasts of the sky say their sendoffs and let the sun ooze in and graze the land beneath happily.