It's almost 8.30pm over here. The sky outside is a copperish-red, its surface jagged and ominous. Lightning leaves heat imprints on my eyes as I gaze out.

And I'm filled with the longing to go to the park...to walk in the storm, to revel in it as a child of fury. I want to feel the chill of the wind as it blows across my rain-soaked skin; I want to feel the harsh yet purifying sting of the rain as it falls; I want to shiver as I walk against the storm, remembering to appreciate the warmth I have, but at the same time wishing for my wolf fur, for my eagle feathers, for my dragon hide.

I want to be able to curl up in a den of earth, tail over my nose, warm and snug; I want to nest in my brood, in the highest mountains of mists, in my aerie; I want to sleep in the plains as the lightning and thunder work their plays above me, unafraid.

I want to dance amongst the rain-soaked trees and hear their voices sing: deep, wise ones; young, joyful ones. I want to go and shout out that it's MABON tomorrow, and let's wake up and sing!

And after the dance, should exhaustion come, I want to curl up amongst the large roots of the trees and sleep, protected largely from the storm by the thick canopy, hearing the murmur of the trees lull me to rest, they knowing that I'm their kin.

I want to talk to the guardians of nature whom I've been seeing a lot these few days; they've watched me, and they know that I can see them, but they never come near. I want to shift, to feel my paws, my snout, my teeth, to raise my head and howl to the skies; I want to soar, feeling the wind beneath my wings, to feel my feathers ruffling; I want to sit still and serene, listening to Gaia's songs of beauty, my tail curled around my body, poised but calm.

I want to feel the storm.

I want to be in the storm.

I want to be the storm.