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| Trevor Romaine's Bio |
The storm loves to send little fingers of wind scurrying around your house searching for a tiny crack so that it can sneak inside and chill you.
It rattles the door and tries all the windows.
It grabs the trees in your garden and angrily shakes them until their leaves fall off.
On the roof, the wind finds an old kite and sends it flying over the fence and into the air.
Higher.
And higher.
Where the huge black cloud suddenly opens it's mouth and swallows the kite with one big gulp.
And the kite disappears.
For just a second, then the cloud rumbles with a thunderous cough and spits the kite out.
And the kite falls and tumbles and floats back to the ground, where it will gently rock in it's misery until the storm is over and someone repairs it.
But the storm is not done. No, this is just the beginning.
Now the storm takes the weather vane on top of your roof and sends the vane spinning so quickly that it gets dizzy and forgets which way the wind is blowing.
Then a nasty gust of wind grabs the washing from the line and makes it dance a merry jig before it throws the washing down upon the dampened ground.
Uh, oh. Sometimes the wind discovers an unlatched window. And like a thief with nimble fingers, it works the lock until...'click'... it opens. Then before you know it, the blustering wind rushes into the room and rifles through the papers on the desk. Then it takes a big breath and blows everything in sight.
Like the magazines on the table.
Or the curtains or the cat.
It dashes around the room looking for trouble, until someone hurries in and forces the wind out by closing the window.
Finally, the storm gets bored with your home and with a deep rumble of thunder, it orders the wind to move down the road and try someone else's house.
Then, once it's all over and the wind is long gone, the storm sometimes feels bad about scaring you and cries tears of gentle rain that sprinkle the grass, water the garden, and wash your house clean.
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| Trevor Romaine's Bio |
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