Storm

I sit beside the storm.

The repetitive beat of rain broken by the thunder lions roar.

Lightning follows, my mind and eye argue over its presence.

Rain harder, a more aggressive tune, deafening as it lands. 

More lion, more flash, an orchestra of weather. 

I am inside the storm.

I embrace it, it's force compelling and hypnotic. A ruthless ever changing rhythm of disorder, that shows it's strength by turning day to night with ferocious ease and reckless abandon. 

I am in awe of it, in awe of its majesty and grace, its uncontainable power and its variety of emotion. The storm is free. A freedom of which we can only dream.