Along with the Thunder

The air thickens, a velvet cloak drawn across a gasping sky. No sudden crack but a low groan first, from the belly of the coming storm. It's the earth's deep shudder, a premonition rippling through bone. Then the light breaks, a jagged scar ripped across the bruised canvas. Not just light but a silent scream of energy unbound, the universe unzipping its dark seam. And with it, the thunder. It isn't just sound. It's a hammer blow on the anvil of silence, shaking the dust from old fears, rattling the windows of the soul. Each concussive wave, a question asked of every hidden thing. The dog whimpers, a child cries out, but the trees stand firm, their branches a chaotic calligraphy against the furious glow. They know this language, this wild, untamed conversation. And we, caught in the downpour's sudden lash, feel the echoes in our chests. A primal drum reminding us of power beyond our grasp, of beauty in the brutal truth. Along with the thunder, something ancient awakens, a wildness mirroring the chaos in the clouds, the quiet reckoning.