The Coming Storm

The dark clouds race across the horizon.  Their arrival announced by the fleeing wind and the bass rumble of discontent.  Lightning flashes raise the hairs on the back of my neck and I try to stare the storm down.  I gather the energy pushing against me, and with the thrust of my hands, push back.  The effort has little to no effect and I feel heartbroken.  This would have worked if there was really magic in the world, I’m sure of it.  The sky opens up, mocking me as I am drenched by some of the largest rain drops I have ever seen.  Lightning takes pictures of me as I slowly walk to the house under the mocking laughter of thunder.  I shake my fist at the storm as I get to my front door.  The thunder goes silent and the rain begins to lesson.   A smile spreads on my face as the sun peaks out from the dark clouds.  Maybe there is magic.  I dance in the puddles of my victory, at least until my mother calls me inside.