Storms

Since last night, it has stormed in various degrees. Perhaps around 9 or 10, truly astonishing lightning and thunder began.
By 11, it was both very exciting and rather scary. I stood by the upstairs windows, watching as lightning filled the sky, so bright that it created many minute days. The thunder was unceasing, a low roar steadily filling all, with an overlay of cackling beasts followed by whip cracks that shook the very soul.
Again, and again, the cacophony of light and sound stunned my brain, creating new worlds from ripples in the very fabric of space and time. Winds whistled, rain pounded. The whole thing was some great exciting show and it seemed that I was a lone spectator, awake and keenly aware of every breath that the storm took.
In the morning, many hours after stunning lights and angry crashes had somehow lulled me into sleep, the feeling of calm-after-the-storm was very nearly tangible. The morning light was a tired yellow, touching on millions of raindrops that the storm had left behind.

Now, another storm is brewing above, undoubtedly coming within the next few hours. Outside it is as if even the deities of Mount Olympus wait with baited breath, unsure what havoc the mighty storm might wreak. Birds and small animals are nowhere to be seen; they wait cautiously for the shaking, flashing, booming, pounding of the storm. The sky is gray but alive with invisible energy, and several times a minute one can hear a thunder creature run its circuit around the sky.

The moody blue winds breathe through the living, whispering the most sensuous and the most sinister of secrets into the hearts of all. The ground, despite last night's downpour, is pleasantly firm, awaiting even more moisture as a kitten awaits milk. Oppressive clouds shed the Earth with a fluorescent light, and each color shines with unspeakable intensity against the ominous backdrop of anticipation.

Yet a third storm, quiet and subtle, has outlived both of the previous and roils now beneath both. The storm is in my mind, and keeps me shut into myself just as a physical storm keeps so many in their homes. I feel at one with so many things beaten down by the rain; the trees and grass speak to me and help to remember what is true of all storms: Despite how much damage created, every storm has an end; Harder storms are eased by brevity; And within a storm all is washed clean and made to be new. This storm is not like that long and deathly depression which I once knew. It will leave quickly, I am sure. and it will leave me better than I was. But I cannot help but be exhausted by the groaning of my mind at unexpected points in the day. Just an hour ago I lay down without cause or need and found myself curled into the mattress as if it were my one and only friend. Now I feel relatively content. I only hope that within a week this storm will be over, and perhaps two suns can emerge as one.