Camping in the Concrete Jungle: Storms

It comes when we least expect it, one cloud at a time. On the days when the sun has blistered our backs and made us sweat through our denim shorts. The palm trees, never reliable for shade from the sun, shy away even more from the role of protector as the first droplets of rain begin to sprinkle the ground; they are only here for the looks after all.

The few birds that reside in the city tuck themselves away and silence their calls as the first crack of lightning shocks the skyline and I know, without a doubt, I am trapped behind these flimsy concrete walls.

Prayers for solid foundations comes in the midst of the thunder as the misty haze of droplets turns into a full expulsion of the world’s tears that were stored up for so long in the clouds.

Maybe that’s why the rain has been so consistent lately, the world is hurting and the clouds are finding it difficult to put on a happy face. Grey skies from morning to night are the ambiance of most days leaving sun seekers defeated in their scourings. So the nights come only to bring gray days and the world hurts and the clouds continue to cry.

But through it all, the sun rises and sets. Pink, orange, yellow, purple, blue; the clouds seek their rainbows and illuminate the sky in soft reprisal against the darkness. Storms that come in the night are never thought for and storms in the day provide the best golden-hour canvas.

Hope stands tall through the storms even though everything else might fail.

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