eople always talk about the calm before the storm. How the day flips from being quiet to  dangerous how there is a period of unusual tranquillity before it. But I never really understood  that.  

For me it was always chaos before and the calm, the calm came after. 

I am in school, I can see the clouds. They gather, a silver fade, from the strongest of greys to  the softest of whites and have commanded the skies today, unforgiving…un-nerving. They are  molten silver, dragged downward by the rain that holds it in its delicate frame. Soon the clouds  will struggle to withstand the burden of the weight and give in. Next comes the wind, the  enchantress stirring the trees into a vortex of dance. Tiny twigs and little leaves flurry across,  waltzing in harmony. Suffocating…I know. 

The real chaos is here. In the school as parents scramble to collect their children. Even the  storm waits, for it knows never to get in the way of a concerned mother and her child. As time  flies and the clouds conglomerate into a breathing mass of destruction, panic crescendos for the  few left waiting. I am still waiting. 

The real chaos is also on the street opposite, as rusted corrugated metal shutters protest violent  downward thrusts by owners. As police sirens and unsettled children wail into the thunder. And  as a bright green umbrella upturns so will our luck. 

I can see it… we all can see it. A war of the heavens. Bows of lighting falter against the swords  of thunder. It is like liquid golden ore streaks are being forged into the black above my head. It is  Zeus’s destructive play field, and we are all at his mercy. The ground trembles.. it shakes, it  shivers, and as the sun crawls back into hiding so must we.  

We climb down to the storm shelter of the school, prayers in mind, fingers crossed. … 

The first golden rays of sunlight break the horizon. The kind of light that goes all the way to the  soul. The roads felt the sunlight invigorate its crumbling surface, a reward for surviving the terror  of the night. Like I said.. calm…no more chaos. Leaves and bits of concrete lay jumbled on the  grounds, remnants of the plethora of items that were stolen by the dark and carried away into  the night. 

At one corner lay the splintered remains of our gardening shed, plants nowhere in sight. Our  garden a cornucopia no longer, now a scattered mess on the mud with little more than an odd  petal here and there. A patter of raindrops can still be heard, dripping from the roof, breaking  into a splash as they strike the ground. A monotonous repetition, a song, echoing the rendition  from the nights orchestra. 

There is a sweet petrichor that begins to waft. Bitter- sweet. The same scent that transports you  to the first rains in spring. All around you see people rejoicing, thanking their gods for their  protection. There is no fear, there is relief. More and more people begin to gather near the  streets around the school, prepared to face the losses of the night. Preparing to face years of  hard work be torn away in a single night.

There are however the children, the innocent children… unaware of the losses, jumping in the  puddles and giggling with their friends. Little bundles of joy and hope reminding everyone of the  happiness, for we have survived the cold night to witness another day.