The Storm Brews

The sun rolled behind the clouds in the late afternoon. Darkness enveloped the sky. A storm was brewing. Clouds smashed together as if a dark omen was presenting itself. A new day would be about soon enough. Gone was the sunshine and happiness of a summer's day, and in came the darkness and eeriness of a summer's night.

She sat and watched the changes, sensing it in the air. The wind hollowed more, the trees rustled in the wind, and there was a bite to the air. No longer did her clothes feel sticky and damp, no now they felt dry and she could smell the fabric softener she used previously when she did her wash.

With phone in hand she stared at that sky praying for rain. It had been too long and the grass was in need for it had long gone dry and brittle. The wind played with her hair, goosebumps formed on her neck as the sweat dripped down slowly. Photo after photo was taken until she found it. The one as she refers to her photos.

Capturing the moment was her hobby. Capturing life and stillness, surrounding herself in everything she found interesting or noteworthy. Looking at her pictures she saw each beam of sun as a story.

A calling for a better tomorrow when the earth is renewed. Each cloud filling the frame bringing hope of a greener earth after a good night's rest. There she sat. Waiting for the storm to brew.