Something Old

The Tempest

~~*~~How fickle the weather could be. The winds blowing first one way and then without any reason or sign turn upon itself. Would there ever be a rest from the incessant downpour, if only to pluck the dead from the teasing grips of the raging rivers and tides of a sea gone mad?~~*~~

~~*~~Hope...if there was such a thing left..could only glimmer in the distant fluff of mistly light grey. Rain clouds through and through, yet at such an altitude the threat appeared meek in comparison to the onslaught that wore at the patience and nerves of all. As gently as a brush of a lovers hand the winds softened and perhaps only minutes later disipated.~~*~~

~~*~~The leaden mist swirled as if dancing to an enchantingly lazy melody. Each twirl of the lighter grey clouds pushed with a gentle firmness their dark merciless brothers away from the wounded lands, now a sad contrast to what had been merely days prior. The unseen forces of fronts shifting in the atmosphere helped the lighter in their work, resulting in a constant almost hypnotic motion.~~*~~

~~*~~Those who had continued to suffer through the unpredictable elements would find only a short rest. Even as the placid sprinkles attempted to soothe away the effects that continued to feed the raging waters, a not so distant horizon held the tell tale color of raven formations. How much time would drift by unused before the assault pressed forward upon the unprepared, cutting again at those driven despite their weakness.~~*~~

~~*~~Almost as if pleading in behalf of those continually trodden, the gentle mists of paling grey keep the inevitable tides of darkness at bay. As if in frustration out in the invading wave of clouds, shrouded in the darkest ebony, streaks of burning light tear fiercly from one place to the next.~~*~~

~~*~~Slowly the surrounding horizon grows darker than night, as the angry black clouds spread driving the weakend tufts of grey from their battlements. So close now the molesting strands of bursting flame light up the earth below, an engraged glimpse of all that it had to immolate. Out of the friction grows a gust of wind, light a first, appearing again as a gentle touch of an unseen hand. Minutes elapse as the gentle breeze begins to tug at the bows of the great trees in the forest. Unwillingly the stalwart giants bow to a force far greater than themselves.~~*~~

~~*~~Having completely extinguished the last feeble attempts of fair weather, a low rumble grows. Whether from the sky or the earth it was indiscernable. The reverberation muffling even the thoughts unspoken. Tormentingly the blazing flashes of light, so entwined in the firmament above, formidably graze the tops of the trees and the tallest of the mountains.~~*~~

~~*~~Perhaps there are those who will stand following the display with a smile, reflecting the surity they feel, having convinced themselves it could do no worse. Outraged at the mocking manner, the spidery veins of light swim together. In the blink of an eye a roar resonates through every crevice the acreage offers. A vehement gleam darts at the same instant. The overwhelming smell of charred dirt, and burning timber strengthened by the relentless winds chokes the air. A new cloud of grey billows from the stead, the mark forever a reminder to those who would scorn the integrity of the insurgent tempest.~~*~~

**This one isn't quite as old, I was either  a senior in high school or a year or so after.  Kind of out of context for what it was written for, so not sure it's really worth anything on it's own.