Dreaded Storm

A harsh wind blew in from the sea, to give warning, of what was ahead. Heavy pine boughs coming away from the tree. A damaging storm, to anticipate with dread. Clouds of gray, moving through the sky, almost as if there was a race to win. Leaves, swirling upward, ready to fly. A gust catches a pine cone, making it spin. The waves furiously hit the shore. White crests rolling onto the sand. The howling wind, joined by ocean's roar. The island will suffer a bit more than land. The wind came from the bay, Then turned to revisit the beach. The rain, the wind, made its own way. Objects flew, so high, out of reach. High winds, driving rain, a storm not uncommon here. It is with hope, that we will sustain. And once again we wait for the sky to clear.