Storm

Summer is here. The leaves are still. The air is suffocating to breathe. The earth had been scorching with the heat, and the leaves had withered away in the burning light of the sun. The birds had long gone home. It is then that the breeze turns cool. The wind gushes and turns cooler. And like a whirlpool, the Storm dances her way into the city. People rush to close their doors and windows.

The rebellious Storm can do them harm. Break their glass houses. Perhaps blow away some precious things. People are never ready for rebels. Be it the Storm herself. She picks up speed and music. And prances around in the beat and rhythm of the drums of the clouds.

The lightning is her spotlight to glory. She unties her long black hair and lets it sweep across the earth. Brushing away the dirt. Making it enter homes. Perhaps that's how people will learn to clean up their own mess. She smiles.

Only Nature enjoys her dance. The trees sway in rhythm to her body, and the leaves rustle like the music of a flute. Her ornaments are the red clouds.

Her smile, the thunder in it. She twirls, she grooves, and she ends the show in happy tears. Tears of freedom. Of waiting and happiness. Her tears soak the earth. Unlike people, Nature opens her arms to the rebellion. For she knows her daughter is a part of her. Without rebellions, changes are impossible. The smell of the earth makes the Storm smile. Her mother appreciates her. Even when society closes its door to this side of her. She stops dancing. Until next time.