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This is basically what any and all of my writing looks like: messy scribbled pencil with notes along the side, sentences scratched out, and layout rearranged. And this is after my initial attempt (on the other side of the paper). 

Anyway, this is something I wrote while outside on our trampoline attempting to read a hopelessly dull book on "Warfare in the Classical World". It may sound mildly interesting, but trust me- if anyone could make a topic uninteresting, that author could. So, the wind was pummeling the trees on a cloudy but comfortable day, and this idea popped into my head. And I couldn't resist. I don't really know what it is. But either way, here it is.

A bright, white expanse stretches far above me, smudged gray and blue. The air tastes like rain and the wind feels like summer. It surges through the treetops. It whispers in my ears. It whips at my hair, playing with tendrils and weaving in between the locks, entangling itself in the murky blond tresses. But then it won't let go. And then neither will I, my hazel eyes shadowed by the stormy white gray.

The invisible force lifts me upward. It has magic the magic of storm, of chaos, of power, of fear, and destruction. 

The wind now feels colder. My lips feel the chap.

I could have the power of that magic, the magic of that power. I could rule the roaring terror of thunder, the whirling howl of wind, the pounding force of rain. 

But then no.

I felt a slight tightening of the air, a clench of the wind, an imperceptible rumble of the air. A tremor of rage shivered through my body. I felt their control and the sway that they held. And I was afraid.

I must free myself from their magic divine. Their power is theirs. It could never be mine. I must run. I must flee. This path in the sky was never for me. They saw the storm in me in the chaos of my eyes but they did not see the fierce storm of my soul that refused to give in. They missed the hazel of my eyes, my heart for the earth and for peace and for passion and sunshine and growth . Because they were too busy finding their reflection in me. They saw I had it in me but now they see what was beneath. Now they sensed my resistance and they knew from my eyes I would not, I could not, would never be ruled. 

And suddenly I knew what their answer would be. The oncoming storm. It was coming for me.

The Lightning blazed. The Thunder crashed. The Rain pounded. The Wind shrieked.

And then the storm struck.

Well, I just read back over this and realized that I really don't like it at all. Not entirely sure why I'm still posting it, but I just can't not post this after I spent the time typing it out. And I like the pictures too. So there it is. It seems forced and it sounds disjointed, but still there it is.