Silence. Darkness lies heavy on the muted landscape. Trees stand in rows like dark pillars, their leaves hanging still. Tiny creatures have retreated into sheltered lairs, ruffling feathers and tucking noses into warm fur. Light flickers faintly on the horizon. A distant rumble echoes after it, a whisper of warning. Grasses shiver in anticipation at the touch of a soft breeze, and the leaves rustle, alluding of things to come.
Into the quiet night, the wind bursts, bending boughs and flattening grasses. She whirls, running greedy fingers through leaves, tearing them from their branches. Trees bow and sway, dancing under her merciless touch. The light flares again, brighter now, snaking across a midnight sky, and the thundering voice answers, grumbling away to nothing.
One drop. Then two. A quiet rhythm grows to a roar. Torrents pour down, a mist of water throwing itself into the earth. The skies crack open again and again as light angrily slashes across menacing clouds, growling, roaring, raging against the sizzle of rain. Thunder slams itself against the earth, shaking it with the impact. Trees toss their leafy heads as the wind wraps a shawl of water around herself, spinning, diving, dancing. She gusts through the trees, rushing, reaching for the horizon.
The rumble chases after her, softening to a whisper. The roar fades to a patter until only the dripping of trickling droplets remains. The grass hangs its weary head, and the trees tremble free of their watery cloaks, silent except for their steady weeping. The night is quiet again and only a faint flicker on the horizon remains.
Today’s prompt was to describe a storm from beginning to end. I love thunderstorms, and I tried to aurally conjure what I would hear listening to one late at night.
Writing has been difficult the past few days. I’m making some headway on my draft, but writing these prompts is a struggle. Way more than usual. I guess I don’t feel very imaginative right now. That’s alright. It will be back.