The Storm of the Century (My daughter's new work)

The other day, I saw a note from my daughter A's teacher asking if A can send her a soft copy of this article. She asked if A agrees to send this article to the literature magazine.

A has been good at writing since her early school age. I remember once she wrote about following her Daddy to the hospital to see me and her newborn brother. Her pencil lead me through the hospital elevator, the long hallway, the nurses' station. It ended up in Mom's room. The warm sun shined in onto the hospital bed. On the bed, there was me and my little A playing. She was teaching me a new game she learned from school. (She wrote that she meant to entertain me.) A had two long hair beads on.

It actually was the most beautiful time that I spent with her as a working mom.

When she wrote that article, she was six and half. Over the years, her pencil gets sharpened and the imagination fills her article with the mist of joy.



This was the kind of weather that scoffed at mere sound effects like " Boom!" or "Bang!" This was the Storm of the Century, and it would go down in history. It came on a teeth-chattering evening, the kind where people look back over their shoulders every so often to make sure there wasn't anyone following them. It was a kingdom of clouds, and it edged over the Rocky Mountains from the west, loitered around a bit, just so everyone could take it in, then sauntered over the Great Plains, as if it knew everyone in the world was marveling at it. It's sheer size made the Rockies look like ice cream cones, and it devastated the minds of scientists everywhere as they scrambled to make heads and tails of this phenomenon. A radiant bolt of neon blue shattered the picturesque scene, and with it came a wave of wind that swept through the grasses, forcing its subjects to bow down to the sky kingdom. Then, there was the thunder. Those who heard it firsthand instinctively looked down to make sure the Earth hadn't shattered into infinite pieces. No, not yet. The hammer of earsplitting noise had not yet cracked the ground. Next, was the iridescent flashes, along with a stately beat, heralding the kingdom's arrival. A sharp, ozone-like smell, the kind that comes before every storm, seemed to ride the gusting winds to proclaim the great news to those ignorant of the proceedings. Electricity seemed to twirl and leap through the air delighting in the fact that the Great Storm was here.

It was beautiful. A scary sort of beautiful, but beautiful and awe-inspiring nonetheless. It made you want to take a picture, to paint on canvas, to somehow record the sight of the kingdom. A huge castle rose above the other buildings, watching over the events as only a king and queen could, with their aura that proclaimed "We are royalty, so why are you not bowing down yet?" Some call it arrogance, but arrogance is based on lies. This storm had the typical air or someone who had conquered the world, with the knowledge that everyone would bow down for you, your greatness, your orderly crisp image. There were cathedrals of clouds, arches and forests, turrets, walls, and atchitectual wonders. It made you look aet your own 'great' cities and wonder how you had lived among that awkwardness for so long? There were no defining borders, they all flowed together in a way that could only be achieved by the clouds.

The colors of the clouds made the artists look at their drab reds and blues and wonder how had they painted for so long using those colors? In the clouds, there were cherry, crimson, wine and coral reds, caramel, topaz, and persimmon oranges. Lemon, apricot, butterscotch yellows, celery, olive, chartreuse greens. Peacock, porcelain, cobalt blues and lavender, orchid, plum purples too. Dove, ashen, platinum grays with marble, creamy, ivory whites. Ebony, charcoal, midnight blacks and walnut, hazel, cinnamon browns. It wasn't showy, flowery, flashy beautiful, it was a exotic and fiery blast. It came, conquering all with just a flash of lightning, a rage of thunder, a glance of colors and shapes. It was stronger than the greatest armies, yet it was pleasant and serene. It was the Storm of the Century, and it would go down in history.