Post by Deleted on May 8, 2016 19:57:19 GMT -8
Hi guys! This is a little descriptive piece I wrote a few days ago. I didn't really write it for anything, just because I felt the moment needed to be expressed. Please tell me what you think, I'd love to hear it. 
As the afternoon wears on, ominous clouds form over the mountains. A dove-gray mist begins to creep through the valleys, fading higher peaks to the illusive color of secrets. Thunder rolls in the distance, foretelling the approaching storm. As the rain begins to fall to the west, streaks of silver cascade down, tugging blue-gray clouds toward the distant earth. A cold wind picks up, stirring thick pine branches and rattling red willow twigs. The fresh scent of rain reaches the meadow air, sending a single warning. Immense, flint-colored clouds edge closer, and the sound of falling rain shatters the silent setting.
The rain begins slowly, a steady drip, drip that is echoed throughout the valley. Damp soil and soaked sagebrush quiver at the first blinding strike as it lights up the dark blue sky in a split-second flash, followed by a reverberating explosion of power. Forks of white flame burst into existence, before disappearing with tremendous cracks that shake the ground. Again and again lighting splits the meadow in two, the storm’s fury giving it strength. The rain picks up power, emboldened by the ageless roar of an enraged thunderstorm. Soon torrents of water are falling, wrapping the valley in a whirlwind of sharp raindrops.
Strong winds from the west continue their journey onward and the storm, its temper slowing, is slowly pushed eastward. Thunder gradually quiets, and the downpour slows to a halt. Blue mist rolls away from the rocky, pine-covered mountain peaks, leaving them standing dark and solemn underneath the receding cloud cover. Soon the only sound in the valley is that of slate-colored droplets seeping through juniper branches and pattering onto the jagged rocks that have settled beneath the trees. Tiny water droplets bead up, rolling down gently rounded green leaves and balancing on each sharp blade of grass.
As the shadowy veil is lifted from the valley, fragments of blue sky open up. In a flash, a single ray of golden sunlight breaks through the weakening fog. Each aspen leaf and pine needle offer their stolen raindrops to the sun with shy smiles of quiet joy. The delicate, pristine droplets are immediately infused with liquid fire, and shimmer with every color of the rainbow in a dance of wild jubilation: the storm has passed, the rain is gone. Shards of white light reflect off each drop, rejoicing in their newfound freedom from the oppressing rainstorm. The crisp scent of rain weaves through sweet sage and musky willow, patching together an aura of serene peace. A slow echo of long-forgotten thunder grumbles in the distance, but here, in the wake of the storm, all is still, a land of undisturbed raindrops and the quiet whispers of a past rainstorm.
As the afternoon wears on, ominous clouds form over the mountains. A dove-gray mist begins to creep through the valleys, fading higher peaks to the illusive color of secrets. Thunder rolls in the distance, foretelling the approaching storm. As the rain begins to fall to the west, streaks of silver cascade down, tugging blue-gray clouds toward the distant earth. A cold wind picks up, stirring thick pine branches and rattling red willow twigs. The fresh scent of rain reaches the meadow air, sending a single warning. Immense, flint-colored clouds edge closer, and the sound of falling rain shatters the silent setting.
The rain begins slowly, a steady drip, drip that is echoed throughout the valley. Damp soil and soaked sagebrush quiver at the first blinding strike as it lights up the dark blue sky in a split-second flash, followed by a reverberating explosion of power. Forks of white flame burst into existence, before disappearing with tremendous cracks that shake the ground. Again and again lighting splits the meadow in two, the storm’s fury giving it strength. The rain picks up power, emboldened by the ageless roar of an enraged thunderstorm. Soon torrents of water are falling, wrapping the valley in a whirlwind of sharp raindrops.
Strong winds from the west continue their journey onward and the storm, its temper slowing, is slowly pushed eastward. Thunder gradually quiets, and the downpour slows to a halt. Blue mist rolls away from the rocky, pine-covered mountain peaks, leaving them standing dark and solemn underneath the receding cloud cover. Soon the only sound in the valley is that of slate-colored droplets seeping through juniper branches and pattering onto the jagged rocks that have settled beneath the trees. Tiny water droplets bead up, rolling down gently rounded green leaves and balancing on each sharp blade of grass.
As the shadowy veil is lifted from the valley, fragments of blue sky open up. In a flash, a single ray of golden sunlight breaks through the weakening fog. Each aspen leaf and pine needle offer their stolen raindrops to the sun with shy smiles of quiet joy. The delicate, pristine droplets are immediately infused with liquid fire, and shimmer with every color of the rainbow in a dance of wild jubilation: the storm has passed, the rain is gone. Shards of white light reflect off each drop, rejoicing in their newfound freedom from the oppressing rainstorm. The crisp scent of rain weaves through sweet sage and musky willow, patching together an aura of serene peace. A slow echo of long-forgotten thunder grumbles in the distance, but here, in the wake of the storm, all is still, a land of undisturbed raindrops and the quiet whispers of a past rainstorm.