The Winter's Tale

Winter is upon us. The winds sway where they go,  the rain is sputtering across the ground, and the lightning is flashing as I look upon it from my bedroom window.

The clouds are crowding upon the canvas, gearing up turbidity to its maximum. Overthrowing the limit the wind winds across as if it was moving the clouds according to its will. It splashed over the faces of trees that were dug in that area and fought to uproot their fronged figures, seemingly sticking its head in the soil in the process. The conflict intensified as the tree bowed to the wind’s power but refused to surrender its will. The wind , feeling its own helplessness, escaped to the canvas above, where the clouds soaked up its strength.

 Dimness overwhelmed the air. The chill was enebrating; freezing to the touch of the transparent glass window and reality set upon the current of life with flashes of lightning that streaked all the way to the ground with its branches like a roaring spinner that waited to unfold its cover until it reached the epitome of its spin. Life was dead and the sky could fall at any moment now.

I panicked, looking across the window. “Where is the sun?” I wondered. Where is the light, now that it has been extinguished? Answering me was a wave of splatters that grained all over my window. They replicated and ebbed until they silenced the thunder. And the raindrops kept falling on the ground, flowing and draining down the sewage like so much waste that wants to be erased.

I turned my glance towards the fire, whose warmth I could feel now along with growing confidence of my being. I listened to the quiet crackles of wood that degenerated slowly under the fire, resounding from the fender. Finally, I felt safe. For the first time in this day, I felt calm.