I love thunderstorms.
We really don’t get many in my neck of the woods, so they are extra special when they happen.
A new writing contest has been launched on Poetry Sans Frontieres with some great prizes. The contest is free to enter and only requires a max of 500 words for poetry and 1,000 for flash fiction.
You have to write something that responds to this prompt, which I think is a really fun one, so I’m posting it here:
There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad on a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that led swiftly before him through the moonlight. He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time. He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars and over the face of dead matter that did not move.
~The Call of the Wild, Jack London~