the wind is howling

I wake up to streaks of fierce sunlight glaring through my solitary window. Once I’ve smashed my alarm clock into submission, I rub my eyes and stare into this light in a state of groggy confusion. The sun rarely enters my cave-like basement room. Peering closer through the window, I can see a sky radiantly, unusually blue. My interest is piqued for a fleeting moment before I collapse back into bed, drowsy morning tendencies relapsing temporarily. But now I can hear the wind, and the strength is startling. Apparent thunder is the force with which it hurtles between trees and into every crevice exposed to nature. I roll out of bed and up to the window, where a sky devoid of clouds and vividly cerulean again greets my gaze. The tree branches are offering no resistance to their superior, this massive, penetrating gust, and cry out beneath the unusual stress. A few quick bounds bring me breathless to the main level, still silent from the early hour. On the porch a lamp is swinging wildly around, the fan seems as if it were spinning, and the hammock has been blown from its customary perch. How mysterious is this angry element; she whispers a moment, growls, and then bursts into furious storming which thrills the soul and sharpens the mind. I sigh in content and plunge into my essay due tomorrow, an edge of thunder in my pen.