Another English Post Response

Years ago. Across the great, endless, narrow ocean we call a road, undulating across knolls to wind around rocky foothills. It was there that I found peace among the wild elements.

At the base of the enormous dual pine tree trunks sat two large boulders, white and sparkly with abundant mica, a castle and fortress to warriors littered about from the most recent squirt-gun fight. As accelerating skate boarders flew past on the sidewalk directly under the trees a small boy watched them from high above. Gradually the wind grew from a small summer breeze to a swift moving current strong enough to rustle hair. As the storm became more intense dark clouds cast a shadow over the ground years below. The warriors became 4th grade students again upon retreating from the onslaught into their closed houses. The skateboarders cooly picked up their transportation and dashed inside. Only the boy was left, swaying as much as 20 feet in the ferocious wind, the giant tree almost buckling under the pressure. Luckily the storm held no lightning. The boy's hair whipped around in wild exhilaration as observation became survival. The strong truck was a lifeline, the steadying rock before the waterfall. We leave the boy there, yelling a challenge to the sky as the elements pegged him with dihydrogen monoxide.