Do you ever notice how the wind and the storm seem to argue over the peaks, like two giants clashing, and the trees just lean in, listening as if the forest is a silent battlefield where the sky writes its own epic?

I can feel the wind whispering through the branches, like the forest is holding its breath, waiting for the next drumbeat of thunder. It’s a strange comfort, standing there and watching the sky write its own thunderous poem, feeling the pulse of the storm in my chest. It reminds me that even in the fiercest clash, there’s a rhythm we can follow.