I love watching storms in the distance. I love when the feel and fragrance of a thunderstorm are near you, but the rain and lightning aren’t. There is something serene about it, knowing there is chaos within eyesight while you’re living in peace.
There may be a sense of urgency felt from the sight, knowing you need to take shelter or light candles in case the power goes out. Or feelings of daring and defiance may be sparked when you decide to stand your ground, and not let a little rain ruin your plans.
Storm clouds always mean change though. Somewhere, the sun isn’t shining. Somewhere, there may be rain, lightning, or thunder. Somewhere, the temperature drops and a breeze lifts your hair. Somewhere, things are different.
A jolt ran through me when I first saw the image featured in this post. I wrote a short story about a girl named Wisteria several years ago. Her grandmother, of the same name, was born on the side of the road under a tree covered in blooming wisteria vines. Image the same image with clear skies and yellow fields. I started writing another story more recently that is secretly about the same Wisteria, but I never finished it.
Today, I was thinking about that story. It is a story about not finishing things, about moving on, about being lost or in trouble and someone helping you find your way out. It is the kind of story that helps you with those things. It is not the kind of story that you don’t finish writing. Today, I decided to write about storm clouds.