• There was an artist who sat on the beach. Just a few feet from the break of the surf. Where the ocean would slowly spread itself thin and pull away, back into its great mass. His eyes were tired looking although they held a light in them. A light of inspiration. There were deep wrinkles from squinting so much over time and mainly due to his age. His thick white hair was combed back over his shoulders. He was deep in thought as he watched the tides start to change and the sky above slowly change with the stormy clouds from the distant. This sudden affect made him think about the minds of men and women. So he began to draw on his naked canvas. Starting with lines, using a light charcoal, not once needing to erase. As he sketched he hummed to himself a random tune. Occasionally stopping to look up and gaze at the storm that was moving in was changing the tides and painting the sky a dark grey. Now he was making his paints. Choosing both vibrant and dull colors. Creating a saga, truly a masterpiece that would make statues cry. His brush kissing the canvas softly enough to create thin, detailed lines and, thick enough to create bold ones. As he began to finish he looked back up at the storm and saw that now it was beginning to calm. The tides no longer crashed upon the shore as it did when he was making his paints. The thunder though, was still heard in the distance. For it was only the calm before the storm.
    On the other side of the shore line sat a young woman. Pen and paper in her hand she was writing a letter when the sounds of thunder rolling in the distance caught her attention. She began to think about things that she had long put off. What she had tried to flee from. She was sitting next to the light house, that would guide ships into the harbor on the other side off towards more cliffs. It was late afternoon and what was left of the light cast by the sun shown through the thick mass of clouds that loomed over the entire bay area. Which she rested her eyes upon. The wind picked up a bit and rattled the paper she held in her hands, as if to remind her of the task at hand. Looking down sadness now captured her heart. She felt like she waited too long in life for anything now. Just like this storm, one was tossing inside her own body. Thoughts that clouded her mind, and a tide that was sinking her heart. So she began to write, every now and again she would look up and watch the storm as it would change and she would listen carefully as the thunder boomed and rocked the skies overhead. Then when lightning struck far in the distance she merely glimpsed it but, it was enough for her to smile as she came to her revelation and found a conclusion to her own storm of feelings.
    Far off, towards the storm, on the other side of the ocean was a small island. The trees shook and rain thundered upon the tin roof of a mother and her infant who lay awake watching the sky as the clouds would change from a dark grey to black as the winds picked up. The infant lay still in her arms. Sleeping soundly even as the wind hit the side of the shack in sudden bursts. As if some wild creature was trying to seek refuge by charging full force at the weak walls. The mother turned her attention to the sleeping baby and smiled, her sadness and worry had immediately washed away. She felt stronger and ready for anything. Looking back out the window she felt a little more hope that her husband would return to her. He would be safe and smile at her, the way he always did and, she would feel relief they way she always did when he returned from his hunting trips. Lightning struck the nearest tree and branches flew off and a fury of sparks followed. She clutched the infant closer and looked down at him. His eyes were open now, they reflected the storm. His eyes like his fathers, cloudy grey with the ocean’s deceiving greenblue just hinted underneath. His eyes were calm and showed some signs of tiredness. The calm within these eyes were enough to bring his mother back to her state of hope. She smiled at him and he returned the smile with a toothless grin. Waving his chubby arms up at her as if asking to be held closer, which she did. Seconds slipped by and the infant was once again asleep. His heart beat against his mothers was slow and so rhythmic the mother was able to close her eyes and listen to the storm outside without worry. It was in this that she was able to find herself humming to the sounds outside. They were no longer the sounds of chaos or destruction but, the sounds of a chorus directed by the winds.

    Far off on the island. . .

    The hunter was stranded. There were large waves that crashed upon the cliff walls that he now clutched to. The thought of his loved ones kept him hanging on. Though with each wave his handling become looser. Looking up he tried to see how far the cliffs ledge was now. He had been there for what seemed like hours after chasing a wild boar, the hunter not seeing the edge through the hard rains lost his footing and followed the boar to its own demise. He was lucky enough to catch onto roots that came from the oak above him. Even though he would get so close to the lip of the cliff the massive waves would crash into the cliff and him, pulling him a little lower. The hunter was strong willed and refused to give up. He glimpsed over his shoulder and could make out the body of the boar on the rocks below. He wondered if he were to climb down instead if he would be able to make it by swimming out with the tide. That thought was erased when the next wave hurled itself so immensely at the cliff and himself that he felt submerged in the deep. When it was over he was glad to see that he was still holding onto the roots and rocks. There was a sudden hush amongst the sky and he stared up. Thunder shook the oak and light struck the base of it. It began to fall and his heart stopped. The faces of those he held dearest flashed before him and he could almost smell the fire that she would have burning for him and the laughter of his infant son. Then, the hush was back and he felt suspended, floating in a never ending calm. This was all interrupted by a tug on his entire body. The force became stronger and he was pulled up to air. He gasped for breath and inhaled salt air. His eyes were opened now and he was reaching out for anything to grasp onto. Rough skin brushed the tips of his fingers and he saw that part of the oak was floating. He held fast to it as the tide dragged him from the cliffs and from the island. Slowly taking him away. As it did he felt the rush of fear, for there was absolutely nothing he could do. The fear went away and was replaced by adrenaline and anger. He would not be taken by this storm. Fighting hard against it, he kicked and paddled with the oak still keeping him afloat. For now. His body grew tired and his limbs were losing feeling from the frigid waters. He screamed out, first in anger, then for help. Then he screamed again, in torment. That the truth was, he felt would never see her. Never see his son grow up. Losing consciousness the last thing he saw was the small shack and, the warm glow of a fire burning inside as he clutched to the one thing keeping him afloat.