Though it may wreak
destruction, there is a undeniable
beauty to it.
Rain that flies upward,
spitting into the air in mad
steam, while thick
frosted hail streams down only to be blown apart by a fierce gust of wind and
split into seven white
flakes of snow.
Wind and water are
thrown and
driven across the sky. The wind is so strong you can see a
white foam dancing through it and the rain so dispersed it flies in every
direction, yet remains just as thick as a torrential downpour.
Trees bend under its
power and buildings
shake. Random objects are scattered in the skyline, flying and
crashing against walls. The constant breaking brings your
imagination to piece together every outcome.
It has a terrific sound,
hissing and
whistling in the peak of its fury. A red sky warns of
danger; a restless storm refusing to slow.
It is a
madness and a
beauty; an unrelenting
emotionless force long awaited for since its news of arrival and much too long overstayed.
Not just
precipitation and
wind, it is a power
birthed from the sea and
housed in the sky.
Typhoon.