The Quiet Storm

I awoke this morning to the not so distant rumble of thunder.
     At first, I begged for a mistake and noticed that light continued to perforate the bounds of my curtained windows.  Stumbling groggily towards them, the thunder rumbled again.  It was not the normal sound of an angry Zeus clashing his way to the inferior mortals below. No, instead it was a massage on the ears; a forceful presence of a tumbling announcement.  Rain streaked across the panes and as I looked across the rooftops of London, I could see the steam rise along with the swelling of my heart.  The sun, in its early stages of golden splendor, beaconed its way forth into the day like the crispness of a forbidden apple resting on the breast of Eve.
                                       No wind. Soft Rains. Just the predilections of a natural phenomena.
I suppose, in some ways, this was God's way of announcing the importance of today.  Whether or not the royal birth actually occurs today or not, a new day always symbolizes the start of a new chapter.  Storms symbolize the cleanse before the budding of the new.
     I wish I had a picture of what I witnessed this morning, but instead this is what I have.  Words from the soul.