An open plain, a rising storm

The only way past the storm is through it.

On a flat, endless plain a black storm stands up out of the grass — vast, certain, no way around. Whatever you’re walking toward is on the far side of it. So you walk straight at it.

Into the wind

It won’t wait for you to be ready.

The clouds close the lid overhead. The daylight drains out of the grass. The wind leans into your chest, steady and mean. Everything says stop and wait it out. You lower your head and keep walking.

The dark

Inside it, there’s nothing to see.

Black rain. White lightning, then blindness. No horizon, no direction, no sound but the roar and your own breath — only the cold, the flattened grass, and the ground still somehow under your feet.

The seam

Then, far off, a seam of gold.

One shaft of light tears the cloud open and lands on the plain, miles ahead. The storm has an edge. There is an other side. You don’t slow down to be sure — you run at it.

The break

The sky tears open into light.

The storm splits apart above you and the sun comes through all at once, flooding the plain gold to the horizon. The rain thins to nothing. Steam lifts off the grass. The far side was never far — only on the other side of walking through.

Make it yours

This is a world. Your business could live in one.

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