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Thunderstorm in Antarctica

They’re like waves, yeah.  Great white waves stopped afore they can break.  And when you stand there, alone, your shadow is the only black for miles.  Until the clouds come over, then everythin’ turns black.  You can’t use your eyes.  An’ all your equipment ain’t makin’ you see either.  You gotta use your ears, nose, the tips of yer fingers.  It’s hot, the rain, that’s how you smell it.  You remember how thunder sounds, but it might be the groanin’ of the ice.  The wind whistles an’ it’s like a wolf’s howl.  It’s a warm wind, yeah, but yer shiverin’.  Then there’s a noise comin’ from all around.  You can’t see, but yer guessin’ it’s the rain.  The smell comes a right inter yer nostrils.  Yer takin’ big gulps ‘cos it reminds ya of home.  An’ the little noises all around ya, they ain’t little no more.  They is poundin’ like footsteps on an icy doormat.  “The rain’s come ta visit, ma.”  There’s lightnin’ to give ya light, so yer can see the cracks in a runnin’ race at yer feet.   An’ miles away a great big needle o’ ice does a dive inter tha ocean below.

BELOW: song I was listening when suddenly had inspiration.  Does this not remind you of a thunderstorm building in momentum?

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About E.K.M.

Studying at university, passing the time until a publishing Talent Scout comes to pick me up and whisk me away to a world where I can be an author without having another source of income. If only.

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