An archive of my abstract scribblings

Storm

It was suddenly dusk. Not really, but it seemed like it. The clouds that had been hovering daintily on the edge of the horizon were now rolling across the sky like the unfurling sails of a great ship, casting their looming shadows majestically over the vast, sleepy country landscape. They brought a chill with them, in the way that you get cold in the shadow of a tall tree and the wind started to pick up, dancing up and down, gaily at first, little feet dancing lightly on the tops of the trees, lifting the leaves playfully and rustling the grass nervously.

As the clouds got heavier and darker and their hulking forms settled pompously over the sky, the wind danced faster, more wildly, picking the leaves up, shaking the branches, pushing the delicate blades of grass roughly to and fro in a giddy, manic game. The shadows of the dark, almost black clouds had near leeched the world of colour, leaving a strangely monotone surrounding, and they smothered the initially blue sky with the oblivious, satisfied air of one making themselves completely comfortable in someone else's parlour, before enquiring after tea.

There was a little lull whilst the wind picked up and the clouds situated themselves haughtily in the sky, and a strange sort of silence quivered anxiously overhead. It was a sort of expectant quiet, waiting trepidatiously in the wavering stillness of the quasi-dusk as if the world was holding its breath.

With a contented sigh, the clouds, their heavy lidded eyes blinking sleepily at the world nestled beneath their vast expansive bulk, began to rain. 

Stormy Landscape by Rembrandt