After the storm comes the quiet, a gentle state a relief from the overnight riot. After the storm comes a gentle breeze cooling the moment, a subtle ease. Freshness in the air, as the newness of the day flares, debris strewn everywhere, battle scene of despair. After the storm, the smell of revitalised grass and trees, gentle day breaking free.
After the storm, the isobars swirl, never deciding which way to turn, pressure low, a temporary state after the storm dissipates. After the storm, the heat starts to rise simmering slowly in the background, gathering momentum over old ground. Heating up in small chunks, waiting to be the main act, once again at the forefront.
After the storm, equilibrium, back to the norm, the usual form, but now it’s getting warm. Pressure building to a crescendo until the heat boils over and the day heads to another night storm. Light night sparks, thunder rumbles and tumbles across the plain, water drenches the ground as the storm begins to pound. Exerting its power all around, electrifying, terrifying. Damage once again strewn all around, feelings abound, doors bang the thunder is gone. After the storm, comes the remorse then the divorce.
Rhythm of the Ink 