The sky hidden, a veil of gloom and fog hovers above, smothering and oppressive. Leading to headaches and anxiety and a general sense of impending doom.
The inevitable deluge exploding from the heavens, engulfing all the land.
Spreading across territories. Soaking, drenching, invading.
From our windows we see the approaching darkness creep up and surround us, trapping us in its snare.
We are hostages in our shelters, which incidentally, unavoidably leak under the enormity and weight.
Then comes the big show. The performance of light and sound. The black sky is cracked open with electric gold, snapping like an angry beast – snaking, twisting, jarring… Terrifying, inspiring.
1… 2… 3… the growling rumbles across the valley, building momentum like a drumroll of a thousand percussionists. It builds-up and crescendo – the almighty roar.
We instinctively contract inside our own bodies ducking for cover and holding our breath. The noise is arrhythmic and stumbles erratically through our homes and our heads. Travelling through us like ghosts. We feel it in the pit of our stomachs. And then it’s gone.
Silence… except for white noise of the rain.
We ease our way back into ourselves and move trepidly, self-consciously.
We notice little threads of water eek their way through tiny gaps between window sill and wall; through roof tile; nature will not be shunned.
She wants to play.
Another crack in the sky and then darkness. The fuses have blown. The power is out.
No fire, no light, no water pressure… no WiFi (oh my)
We are reduced to simple beings, devoid of distraction, forced into awareness. The cold bites hard, as does the fear. Not a shocking fear, but a dull, creeping fear. The knowledge that nature does not play by rules and we are not equipped for such a game.
Will it be hours? Will it be days? Will it be minutes?
Time fills up the space and loses its shape, and becomes immeasurable.
We sit. We wait. We wonder.
The growling dissipates. She runs away, galloping like a thousand horses across the valley. A wreckage in her wake.
 Stone walls and roads wasted away. Scars from a torrid battle mark the landscape.
Slowly, hesitantly, the thick cloud diffuses. Little openings, little tears, and through little gaps, golden light oozes. Pours in, like liquid fire, and colour is returned.
Light is refracted in every droplet on every leaf and the world sparkles like a thousand diamonds.
The power returns