Ghost in the Storm

A Legend by the Fires

A legend of ages past tells of a wild child born of the mountains, a drifter cliffs and canyons were his home the soul of the storm. Majestic stands the lion's head castle cliffs bush and flaming aloes. At night time in lonely pale moonlight you hear jackals' whelping cries in the dark cattle moan crickets and frogs croaking by water pools.

In the black of night far-off  light flashes warn of the coming storm and a deep rumble sounds while ominous dark clouds threaten, drives man and beast in fear to shelter from the raging storm, wind howls and whines bright lightning flashes in the skies and savage drowning thunder roars and flashing crash.

If you hid in a mountain cleft in the rocks, the brutal thunder all his rapture heard echoes through the valley from cliff to cliff as stones come tumbling down, he breaks branches invites sombre thorn trees to the ancient dance, the rain and wind his only friends in the starless night, the child and man the wind the rain the storm the mountains all are one.

It is said that at night if you followed his trail hid and sheltered in the rocks you still hear his joyful cries echo, laughing over deafening thunder and weeping in the wind and rain. A soul that died in a mighty storm in the night, you can hear his spirit singing still in the thunder hear him laugh in the wind and cry in the rain, his ghost sings he is forgotten, his mountains then alone once more.