Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

Before the storms.

It’s just another day before a storm.

The sun is felt even from behind the clouds, and the heat hangs in the air.

A final chance to sit among the green grasses of the stream. Where so much is barren, it is always so green here.

The bridge painted red to keep vile creatures at bay. To stop them from crossing over, or from rising up from underneath. Its color lingers on the waters, still by little wind and creeping flow.

Tomorrow it will be different, and the heat taken away. If anything is left that’s dry then I hope it will be me. Listening to the rains that come and the thunder it brings too.

The world could be forgotten here if only for a moment, the water’s cool and the air’s heat both playing a game around each other.

One could simply fall asleep and drift away to dream. For all there is in thought and mind is just this day before a storm.



A prompt response.

11 thoughts on “Before the storms.”

  1. When a symbol becomes too powerful, it becomes universally disregarded or despised. Not for what it stands for, but for what it stands against. And only ever as told by those who would lose power to that symbol.


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