It begins as a whisper —

rain testing the air,

a shiver through the pine needles.

Then the sky splits.

You run,

feet pounding the moss-soft floor,

lungs burning with the scent of earth and lightning.

Every breath feels stolen

from the storm’s hungry mouth.

Branches claw at your sleeves,

their fingers slick with rain.

The world becomes a single heartbeat —

yours, the sky’s, the forest’s —

all crashing together in one wild rhythm.

You stop when there’s nowhere left to run.

The thunder swallows your name,

the downpour erases your outline,

and for a moment, you are part of it —

the storm, the forest, the fear,

and the fierce, trembling beauty

of being utterly alive.