A blue sky turns to smoldering gray, and the craven sun falls behind impulsive clouds that roll in from the west. The air is thick, engulfing, blanketing the hills that gather together against the cold. The stream that rolls between the shoulders of the mountains quickens its pace in anticipation of the falling rain. The birds that sang the chorus to this mountain song but an hour ago take wing, and push their way through the coagulating clouds, forcing a path to the cliff-side crags. The branches of the oak grow heavy, and sag with the weight of the storm's pending presence. Their leaves begin to quiver as the first droplets fall, and quake in the quickly forming fray. The hills that crowded each other, now fall on top of themselves, as the small drops of water turn to sheets of falling sky. A wind that once caressed the stream, now throws against it the fury and force of heaven and sky, and tosses the branches of the oak, who groan and cry out to the expanse in protest. The dark dome of darkened space, flashing and crashing with a tumult of light and sound, shakes the hills and sends them shuddering against themselves, seeking shelter within the earth itself, who shuns their pleas and flings them back into the day-turned-night. A silence slices through the storm. The clouds tumble and bump, clumped in the cramped expanse, with a dearth of vigor that comes when fighting a losing battle. First the wind gives way, and the shower of rain resonates off the leaves and stream and rocks and hills and heaven. Abating and abating until nothing but a trickle tickles the trees and the creek. Then the clouds begin to fold up upon themselves, scrolling eastward, chasing the warning rain. A meek and weakened sun falls lightly on the battle-soaked earth, as the hills reach back up to the sky. The stream slows, and begins again its noisy discord across the polished stones that lie at its feet. The great oaks, battle weary after centuries of war with the heavens, heave a final sigh and return again to stoic rest beneath the gathering twilight. and as the sun falls silently away, and the moon climbs up, encouraged by his flight, the stars grow brighter, boldly shining in silent glory the might of a Lord in heaven.