Bolts of lightning flash through the thunderhead on the horizon. The early morning is painted a desert blazing hue, but the storm marches forward with thundering blues and heavy grays. A bolt of lightning dispels the colors in pinkish light, yet vanishes a second later.
Across half the horizon, the storm lays its claim. Atmospheric gales carry it forward like a streaking river. A single column stretches out to the desert painted sunrise. Meanwhile, the crescent moon observes quietly overhead.
Slips of clouds hold the line to keep the sun from breaching the horizon. Yet, heavenly orange light catches the clouds aflame. It’s fiery touch wisps upward and lightning crashes through the storm with its pain.
With every inch of the sun, the storm burned. Yet, when it peeked on the horizon, the sun allowed the storm to cool. The blue-gray shadows of its thunderhead faded a gentle white and the lashes of lightning became sparks of treasure hidden within.
The melancholy dusk of the heated dawn cooled to the brightness of the day. The storm took its leave, white clouds swaying with surrender as the sun reclaimed the sky once more. Life awakened and the world moved on.
nikki diekemper 