Christopher Turner
Connie Echols
Comp I
January Twenty-second, Two-thousand and six

                                          The Avatar of Natures Fury

            Autumn. It is the most amazing time of the year. Fall is the greatest of the four seasons.
The temperatures drop from the scorching withering heat of summer, to just the right degree.
The leaves begin to fade from the harsh, bright green, to the soft browns, soothing oranges, and
gorgeous reds that are the very symbols of the season. The colors blend and mix as I look at
them. Thy move and appear as if on fire. As though the trees are burning, blazing, flaming with
life. A fire that doesn’t bring destruction or death but the breath of creation. Then the leaves fall
from the tree going right then left and finally twirling straight to the ground to be blown across
the ground, gently scraping, by a breeze. In Autumn these breezes blow almost constantly in the
woods where I live. This wind moves at just the right speed, not too harsh yet not too still. As I
sit under a tree looking up at the sky this breeze brings a scent to me, a promise of wonderful
things to come. It is a fresh scent brimming with life. It is the smell of coming rain. I close my
eyes and breathe in deeply to savor the wonderful aroma, then as I open my eyes again I look up
at the clear blue sky. It is no longer clear, nor is it all blue. I watch with a growing sense of awe
as the clouds roll in. They seem to be brimming with confidence pushing the blue to the side.
The clear skies have done their job. It’s time for the clouds to do theirs. And then, as if to
announce it’s approach, there comes a bright flash followed by a continuous roll of thunder. It
has begun. The storm has arrived.

            A nice sunny Fall day is good and all. But there is nothing like an Autumn storm. Never
do I feel as alive as when I stand in my yard listening to a storm as the torrential rains pour down
on me soaking me to the very marrow of my bones. Nothing lets me feel as powerful as when I
let the tempest surround me and envelope me in its seeming omnipotence.

          The dark clouds draw nearer and nearer until they seem so close to the ground that I
could reach up and wave them away like a thick smoke. Then it begins. At first there is just a
little rain here and there, off and on. But then it begins to come in waves, coming in so fast and
strong that it begins stinging my face. As the sun goes down on the other side of the storm it
grows darker and darker with occasional flashes of light and rattles of thunder. Then the bolts of
lightening  begin to constantly light up the sky ripping their way from the heavens to the Earth. It
seems as though the bolts of Zeus must be striking the ground as frequently as the rain itself. The
wind begins to rage this way and that, tearing at all that it touches. Thunder ceases to be separate
claps, and starts merging into one continuous, thunderous roll that seems as if it will never stop
shaking the ground as no man made thing can. This struggle between the Earth and Heaven
continues for hours. The soothing and relaxing sound of the rain lulls me to sleep. Then, finally,
as suddenly as it all began, the storm ends. Just like that, it’s over. Silence. There is a peace after
the war between Heaven and Earth that seems to reach into my heart. A peace that almost makes
me want to cry.

        The clouds slowly disappear, and in their place appears the black expanse of the night
time sky scattered with dots of twinkling light and a gigantic moon showering the world with
healing beams of light. The sky is filled with a promise of tomorrow. The power is gone, but in
its place there is a peace like no other. I look off to the distance where the storm can still be seen
and smile as I watch the distant silent flashes. The avatar of natures fury has moved on to destroy
and heal another place.