Purple blossoming flowers.

They populate the green fields and flow to the current of the wind.

The gusts of air meander their way through the maze of flowers and thorns,

Creating the sound of a storm threatening to destroy everything in its path

As it brews off of the ocean's shore.

It is a unique and dangerous sound,

Deceiving all who hear it

With its rumbling lullaby.

It is the pleasant calmness before the storm,

Like the quiet anger a person stores in her heart—

The peace before the chaos flings back its sealed gates.

It is the soft, yet painful sigh after a great disappointment,

Regret's silent weeping.

The sound is beautiful,

Resonating with the violet flowers

As it lifts their sad, downcast faces

Towards the sky to discover

That they must not suffer this storm


Written: 05/2003, revised 12/2005