Winter

Everything looks a tad grayish, the sky, the streets, the grime sullying the pristine snow. People around me dress in colors that reflect the weather. They wear darker colors, not only because it holds the warmth in but also because clothes are reflective of the mood and the weather.
I look up at the sky and I see a creeping emptiness, the sky does not look blue anymore, but the vicinity does. The ghost of the dead trees stare at me like a skeleton stripped of all its defenses. I see people around me but all that I see is a faint image, reality is just a blur, a half focused view that my mind is trying to decode.

Nature’s Fury

As the whistling wind blows by, and loudly announces its victory, I struggle to keep the careening car in check. They call it the monster, some call it the storm of the decade, I call it nature.
Somewhere in the universe, a civilization is revolting against its government, people are laughing, some are crying, but huddled on this side of the globe, my city gets attacked by the storm. I call it the white storm, not because of the obvious reason, but because, the storm is the purest form of fury. No matter what our strengths or our successes are, no matter how powerful we have become or the avenues that we have conquered, just a gradual turn of the weather has us scurrying into our creaky abodes.
Mankind, in all its glory, can only cower in face of nature’s beautiful fury.