By – elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
Whistling winds are coming down from the mountain, leaves flutter, threatening waters lap against the shore.
At the shoreline there is a steady sloshing, the driving rain riddles the sand; foamy whitecaps are seen through the darkness of night. It is time to stop fishing! A cat runs across the path screeching, black rain covers us beating onto the cabins at the lake; alas, we left the fish basket behind. We dry ourselves, light a fire in the old stone fireplace and crawl into bed; we wait, we listen; the storm is bending trees and flattening summer flowers, we cover our heads as the storm swells outside. A sudden shutter and the roof lifts from the cabin that is soon replaced by a fallen pine-tree; breathing heavily we move closer to each other; this is the first day of our vacation!