The night moves in a cold wind. Its icy fingers splash small raindrops on my face. The rushing air and the convulsing trees and the flying drops pierce me, moving my inmost parts, perhaps my soul. And I want to run into the wind and rain until the wind can no longer blow and the rain falls in hot, sweaty drops from my forehead. I want to catch the night at its beginning and commune with it before it no longer cares. I want the entire storm to course through me before it disperses over the rest of the world.
God knew the world at its inception, and knew me before mine. And he knew that last night I would pace around my house in aimless anticipation, my entire being longing for something more, something outside, endless, intense, complete. Something, perhaps, that I shall only find when I have seen my last stormy night. Praise God, for He uses His creation to awaken His creature.
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