The Wrath of Nature

As the sky prepares itself for evening, darkening through shades of blue and colouring more and more from the day’s greyness, the cloud in the distance becomes more dense; a threatening presence trapped on the far side of the open doorway to a narrow alpine valley.

Gusts of wind twirl the outer reaches, bringing the frenzy nearer. As if sensing freedom, the first fingers begin grasping the mountain walls. Grabbing and sliding, pulling the weight of the storm behind them, they quickly wrap around the front of the edifice and the body of the maelstrom slides from its rest, moving quickly now as it gains momentum.

The arms of the storm quickly cover the higher landscape and the black mass bulges out onto the plains, rumbling and flashing from within as it frees itself. Leaving the mountains behind, it reaches a slope and gathers pace, pushing wind and trees before it, buffeting all those who have watched in awe.

Finally, solidly, it arrives overhead to whip and lash at the town, thrashing water and foliageĀ in all directions in an expression of rage at its confinement. Growling and crashing, striking out with brightly vicious whips, it moves on to let out its wrath on the lake and leaves the town silent, dripping, admonished and dark.

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