I love the calm cool before the storm
When the air suddenly drops
From the unsufferably scorching heat
To something considerably more bearable
In but a few seconds.
When the sun’s bright rays
Cease to shine and the world turns dark.
When the gentle breeze picks up
But is not quite yet a howling, raging wind.
It is a time of quiet reflection before the storm,
Much like the eye of a hurricane.
You can almost see the tension in the air
And feel the storm about to break.
But nothing has yet happened.
For that brief and glorious moment,
All of time is still and the Earth’s very movement freezes.
Nothing moves, nothing breathes,
And nothing is more freeing
Than standing there as the world waits with baited breath
For the deluge that is sure to come.
No, nothing is more freeing than that moment.