Waiting for a Storm

Leaves tremble in the wind — a premonition of a storm forthcome

The faint silhouette of a man can be seen underneath the coverings of a munificent tree, a creature of bark and sap that offers both warmth and shelter. Surrounding him are beasts of wind, threatening to disturb his fated encounter. And yet he stands tall, waiting for the storm.

The furious discharge is coming closer — beasts growing increasingly feral. Alas, he has to put his right hand firmly on his black hat so that it suffers not the fate of the plethora of leaves swirling all around him.

It is with mixed feelings of both fear and excitement that he awaits his judgment. Shivers run down the old man’s spine, despite the warmth offered by his heavy coat. And inside his head swirls a myriad of thoughts and memories. He tries to focus on his purpose, on this fated encounter. Because, at last, he will get his answers — one way or another. The storm will come, and with it, he will be judged.

Deep inside resides the last of cowardly voices he has yet managed to clench. The faint whisper of a naive and fragile part of his soul. Telling him to run back down the hill and into his old cabin, sweet-talking him to rest in front of his fireplace with a glass of wine in hand.

But. It is, after all, nothing but naivety. Trying to evade the storm is futile. The mother of beasts has caught his scent and is now coming for him. Saliva is trickling down from the cloudy sky, softening and marinating him for what is to come.

A bolt sounds in the distance. She is close now. He presses down a gulp in his throat as the violet bursts of lightning flash in the near distance.


Up the hills comes his answer as foretold. His daughter. As she were before she died. Running towards him with a smile on her face.

The man releases a light chuckle, and tears stream down his weary eyes as he embraces the storm.

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