Prologue
It begins with wind, a steady breeze that twists leaves over the sidewalk and makes oceans of grass ripple with lazy waves. The wind is the catalyst, bringing the clouds in, rumbling angry clouds that push forward as if charging to take over the skies, the sun is overtaken, and it soon is dark. The clouds thunder, a rich booming that echoes as it warns the parched ground below that a storm is coming, and it begins to rain. The rain comes down in sheets, wetting the ground and soaking the streets, it runs in rivers down the sidewalks into the gutters. A row of ants are washed away, then their ant hole is drowned, a devastation, but a small one. The rain continues, pitter pattering on the packed down dirt and the asphalt roads, then the climax of the storm, lightning. A bluish white arch of electricity, power, and life, the lighting seethes with life, so much life, that if it were to touch you, you would be overwhelmed and would die from being too full of it.
The storm is a symphony, a thundering percussion, a windy string section playing a soft undertone to the flashes of cymbals and the rhythmic rain fall. Another spidery bolt knifes across the sky, quickly followed by other flashes. Then their solo is over, and the lightning stops, as does the thunder. The rain falls in one more gust before it too retires. The wind continues, blowing the symphony away, sweeping over the soaking and refreshed stage before it too dies down.
One who understood the music, who listened to the symphony as it played, sat cross legged under a tree, her hands on her lap and her eyes closed reverently with her face tilted up to the sky. A boy sat beside her, drinking in the sight of her as she drank in the music of the storm. He touched her cheek lightly, disturbing a trail of raindrops clinging to her skin, and she smiled faintly as she looked over at him, knowing that he didn't hear the music, as he only saw the conductor.