|And it Rained
Disclaimer: Techinally there is no referances to Star Trek in here...but yes, the man is supposed to be from Star Trek so...I don't own them.
Archiving: Please, email me! I'd love to have my stories posted.
Dedications: Deck 9 Section 12 board....cause they seem to like the rain a lot:)
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The man watched as the clouds began to gather. Not in small white bunches, but in menacing bunches of angry grays. They seemed pulled together by some unspoken force, drawn through the sky, blocking the sun. The summer's warmth had faded into a cool breeze that was picking up itís speed.
The man stayed still.
The wind howled and swirled, cold and nipping now. It whispered loudly through the trees, screaming softly of the coming storm.
The man could hear it.
The trees bent with that wind's power, leaves rapidly fluttering in the gusts, holding for dear life. They looked too weak to hang on...too make it through. But they still held tight. They stayed there. Sometimes one or two were swept away and carried into the wind. But nothing was ever perfect.
The man knew that.
Loud claps of thunder rippled through the blackened sky. The trees shook and the ground trembled. It boomed and roared, angry and forceful.
The man didn't move.
The clouds could hold back no more. The rains poured down, soaking the earth-- drowning out the wind in the drop's sounds. The wind carried those drops down in sheets, drenching the ground, creating little rivers.
The man couldn't see.
The lightning lit the sky, a beacon in the middle of the chaos. Sending light into a blinding storm. Only to fade out. The thunder grew louder, the rains harder, the wind rougher.
The man sat in the middle of all chaos.
The ground began to wash away the dirt that was turning to mud. And the mud being rushed in miniature rivers. The leaves tried so very hard to stay on, clinging to the tree's arm...their anchor in the storm. Many more lost the anchor and were lost to the sea coming from the skies. It seemed hopeless.
And yet the man still sat.
Then the thunder stopped. And only to noise of the wind could be heard. Whispering loudly still. And then the winds died down. Until their whispering ceased. And the rain became a summer drizzle. Softer and quieter. Peaceful almost. And then even that died away. The little rivers ran away down the hill taking the dirt and the mud far away. And the man sat, wet, but still quiet.
The clouds began to part. The warmth of a summer day coming back to heat the sodden earth.
And the man looked at the tree.
Leaves were there. Even though they were wet and limp. Still there. The sun began to shine again.
And the man thought.
The rains had cleaned the earth. Taken away the mud. The dirt. And it gave water for the earth to grow. The little leaves even, in the face of such great odds, had stayed grounded. And the loud thunder had faded. The winds that yelled at his soul had been silenced. And the storm clouds had all parted. All was right. He knew then that no matter what he had done the rains would clean him. There was hope. The winds could be silenced. The thunder would fade. The rains would lighten. They would clean his soul. And like those little leaves he had an anchor.
His sun would shine.
And the man smiled.