As the Storm Passes

I stand on the hill, hearing the storm’s call
Its roar entices me to run, to fly with it, to follow where it goes
Its primal nature lures me on, with promises of freedom
The spirit of the old hunters rushes in my veins
As I rush face first into the bellowing wind
Prey and predator, mother and young
Course through me, take hold of me
Liberating my soul--
The storm stops.
I'm left standing.
My arms out wide.
Waiting for nothing.