Up on this cliff, with all of the greenery and sand, With these seashells and the scrub, the shrubs, The full moon timidly pries through the roiling clouds above my head. The storm is fighting, but losing hope. I watch the winds and rain racing over the water In the pale, breaking moonlight. Those white, streaking ruffles spreading across the dark Make me think of wild, gold wheat in a field of deep green. The moist, salted-rain sea air almost has a hint of grain to it. I wait for the harvest, and know its coming soon - Just like the end of this storm - not much beyond the horizon. I can feel the changes already, smell them in the air, And with dawn coming, there's a feeling of hope and Love. The breaking of the storm and the repair of a heart, Readying myself for Tomorrow's new start.