It was a dark and stormy night. The sky’s anguish at the world could not be expressed enough through the aggressive pounding of rain on the forest floor, nor the howls of pain in the wind, and vengeance in the thunder. Lightning flashed like threats of sharp knives and swords to the tall and intrusive mountains, as the congregations of trees bowed down in repentant submission to the wrath of their supervisor.
"Give Thanks," proclaims the Vicar, from the front of the cavernous church. His loud and confident command, however quickly softens, perhaps in respect of the service he conducts, or embarrassment at the negligent faces of a congregation, who would rather do anything but 'give thanks' for something that has torn their hearts into shreds, and buried the fragments on some painfully distant desert island.
I give up chocolate so I don't get fat.
It's almost dawn and a new day is promised by a bracing wind. Raindrops drift from the overarching clouds to land like tiny ballerinas, gracefully slipping onto the soft green grass.