Waiting for the Storm


The weatherman predicts a storm, and the sky concurs with his prediction. For two days it has been misting, so the trees, the barbed wire fences, each blade of grass, are frosted thick. The animals are waiting, like a breath held. Even I am waiting, walking through the stillness before the storm. I am walking like a breath held, the whole world alive with silence.

At dusk, a few flakes will start to fall. Who knows what the dawn will bring...


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