It is coming

Maybe he heard wrong. Maybe it was just the old oak trees down in the valley groaning from age and the dancing wind. Mustering all his courage Mushroom slowly opened his tightly shut eyes. Just a slit. Oh, my. What he saw made him quiver in the soil. The white misty sky was replaced but dark, fat and puffy clouds. The wind danced faster and faster until it brought tears to his eyes. Then he heard it again. A low rumble. It was thunder and it was coming closer and so too the lighting.

The End

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