Dusk Storm

The clouds arrived, rolling clumps of black eliminating daylight. I stood in the field, relishing the feel of the cool wind giving rise to my goosebumps. In moments the wind rose and gave motion to the festering black clouds, growing lumps of foul rot in the sky fighting the pure blue of the humid afternoon.1

It looked as though the devil himself had risen, only to make his grand entrance from above, a betrayal of our expectations, and drink all hope of a heaven. The last of the fluffy clouds escaped the oncoming darkness as pathetic wisps of white against the evil that pursued the North, succumbing to the epic sinister force taking over.2

And as I stood, a gust of wind rushed through the atmosphere like angry ghosts, and loose bark showered me from its lone, swaying gum tree like petals in a summer breeze, carried towards me as if I had summoned them with power, twisting and dancing as flecks of light and dark brown amongst a bold grey backdrop like glitter. A wave of them. And another.3

And another, falling lightly before a silent veil of flashing light that cut through the black belly of the sky from within it, occasionally interrupted by the rumble of thunder so deep it resonated from an abyss.4

I could feel the electric charge emanated through the air, thick despite the freshness of the eerie calm that diffuses as a prelude to the storm.5

Three streaks appeared in the flawless cotton texture, revealing the lightness beyond as if claws had struck the black flesh and wounded it so white blood stood solid within.6

And then, it vanished before my eyes. The wind grew violent and whipped my skin, pushing the clouds away. They formed a giant flat fusion that shadowed the house, forming a distinct line across the earth, one side bright grass, on the other a smudge of darkness surrounding the house. The wind persisted as if for some higher purpose, strong and contemptuous. It pushed me and I felt insignificant under the sky, so immense, so vast and vengeful.7

I went inside and moments later rain pelted as hard as hail, deafening me with its collision onto the tin roof. As the rain fell harder the clouds moved on to warn the North of the oncoming storm.8

The sky became the monotonous grey that so often accompanies miserable rain, undefined clouds of light dullness. I watched from the window as the whipping rain fell on the bitumen so hard that its constant splashing formed an aura of haziness on the road.9

I passed the time writing about what I’d marveled at for the hundredth time – so common but with undiminishing beauty. By the end, the clouds parted and blue hope returned, slowly darkening to gaps of sunset colour far beyond, bringing light to the opposite side of the world. And I sat by the window, writing, and watching the quiet veil of night descend upon my little part of the universe as the lonely lamppost stood by the street, witness to the changing light, the turn of seasons, and changing street. I watched the lonely lamp post cut through the night and illuminate a single circle on the black road below it, and it reminded me of a scene in a horror movie. I try to pull away from watching the familiar scene in fear of seeing a murder or a demon-possessed stalker stare at me, half expecting its little light to flicker on and off then cease. I sit in fascination of the night, and wonder what stories it would recount to me through the whisper of its trees.10