Calm rides in dusk on a darkening sky. No wind blows or rain falls upon now blackening grass that a moment before lay glinting green under the last rays of the sun. A ghostlike evening shapes and takes upon it the eerie stillness of the underworld. No birds sing, nor dogs bark and for the briefest time I feel alone. Then comes the tempest and it trumpets nightmares of feathered, violet cobras wreathing through obsidian clouds to spit silver venom relentlessly upon the earth. I feel the power and malevolence and I am humbled like the ant before the looming oak tree. It was a good storm tonight.