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Writing Byte #13: The Siege of the Storm

Hi there! I had pneumonia over Christmas, but all better now, thank God.
Basically... I'm back... again ;-D

The Siege of the Storm

People come to this lake to see serene scenery,
Ducks and geese that sail silently,
Smooth and quiet, still surface,
The water reflecting the sky.

How boring.

When I turn the last corner, I park and go still.
To see the action.
I'm here for a rock concert, a cage match and the Lord of the Flies' playground all in one.

The clouds rumble their way in, above, pushing and shoving their way to the front, blocking the view of the sun.
The waves form and clap in time.
The current starts out calm, but finds its beat and runs strong and deep... deep.
Birds battle while the the rain pelts the ground in a drumroll, like the drummer boys marching before the troops.

The war is on.
It's a battle of wills; it's a battle of nature... versus nature.
The geese, the ducks, coots and pelicans.
They're all assembled on the battlefield.

The water roars and the geese kick back.
Those fish never stood a chance.
Rain grabs on to drag them all down.
But a shake of the tail feathers sprays it off without a sound.

The birds grow confident; they are winning this battle.
A duck good-naturedly jumps at his friend.
The rush of battle is strong; victory is nigh.

A goose raises its neck high, over a broad white chest.
Shaking his wings, he honks to the sky.
Victory is nigh.

But the storm has another card to play.
The birds never saw it coming.
The water increases its beat: faster and faster.
The sky grows black and the water surges... surges.

The birds rush to their homes, to the bushes and trees,
Retreat! Retreat!
to the strongholds that protect those who flee.

All night, the Storm rages, angry and fearsome.
The insolence! The ignorance!
Those creatures thought they could fight my wrath.
Again and again, the Storm plays its song.
Shrieking its rage to the skies.

But now it is growing tired... tired.
It can rage no longer.
Slowly, slowly, it retreats into the ether.
No more to be found, used up in its fury.

The sun lifts its head, sending rippled reflections to light the water and sky.
A duck wanders out, shaking its tail feathers.
The geese spread their wings, and enter the skies.
Shrieking out to the morning.
Victory is here!

The storm never stood a chance.


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Writing Byte #11: I Dreamed of a Dream

I don’t have a dream, except a dream of a dream. I have a hole instead: a hole or a pit, a vacuum that never fills up, and a thirst that is never satisfied. I look at my life through a mirror, the reflections speak to me in muffled voices, and I’m sinking down and down through the gloom, wishing my soul to sing, my essence to fly out, into the clear bright air under the sun.
I have a dream to breathe, to fill my lungs and live But instead I I control my breathing and sleep, Sleep through this life and long to dream.
But then…
Along comes Hope and with Hope comes life, and I find it, or it finds me… And I breathe in deep, and as the air fills my lungs, I long to cry and shout, to sigh with relief, as I awake anew, from the dark, deep sleep,
where I dreamed of dreaming a dream.

Today's Writing Byte:

For me, words are like a sweet fruit waiting to be plucked.
In certain moments, the light glints off the brightly colored skin. The smell teases your nostrils and you can almost taste its sweet, delicious juice.
But in many of these moments, you can't stop to pick it, because you have school, work, commitment... Life pulling at you every which way.
But you can't wait too long.
If you do, the color and smell of the fruit begin to fade, and the fruit sits less solidly in your hand. As you carry through and eat it, your tongue bothers your brain, and even as you lick your lips, you think the taste is slightly off.
There's something... missing... lost in that past moment of inspiration.
Until the next moment.

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