Brace down the shutters and batten the hatches. Let the waves crash over the bow, washing the deck clean of filth and disease. Rain on the roof, the windowpanes, the planted garden, is a trickle, a rivulet, a torrent, a flood.
Hear the crashing thunder roll, feel the wind as it pulls your soul from your body. The hooves of the wild hunt are pounding through the darkness, past dripping trees, through howling winds.
Ships on the ocean are dancing in the lightning’s flash; riders on the road are pelting before the fury of the storm. Branches bend and break, shingles fly, and out in the fields, we shall dance for joy as the heavens open upon us.
Dreams from the West Wind 