Where the Winds Roar

Where the winds roar through the branches of the Sitka Spruce that runs along the coastline of the Pacific Ocean, the constant and seemingly endless falling of raindrops, the hail pounding on the roof of my tent where no other sounds can be heard.

Where the ocean’s untamed surf crashes against the erect and jagged rock monuments—the guarding sentries of the coastline that rises from the ocean floor.

Where the swift surge of the wild sea erodes away the cliff’s lines in natures course.

Where the roaring thunder announces its presence in the clouds above and beyond to the distant horizon, where the clouds and ocean meets and blends into one another in a gray void.

Where the presence of never-ending clouds threatening more wind, more rain, and more hail, never showing the possibility of the daylight and warmth of the sun nor the blue sky—only teasing us that there might be more than a brief glimpse of hope–hoping, hoping, please no more rain.

And then, in a moment of delight, the winds, rain, and hail have ceased to exist, replacing this winter storm with blue skies and sun giving us a refreshed insight and calm with the lull of the ocean—soothing our soul.

Where the birds once again rejoice in song as a new morning, a new day begins.

A brief moment to behold until the next storm comes to visit.

Where the cold air, and brisk breeze of winter can still be felt. And a constant reminder that nature is running the show.

~ Rick Theile