As the clouds darkened and swirled above, the forest below came alive. Excitement bristled at the edge of the woods, then rustled all throughout. The trees came out of a stupor, shaking their branches and glittering their leaves in anxiety and alarm.

A storm is coming!

On a little knoll, the tallest tree in a stand of mighty sycamores watched the lightning crackle from cloud to cloud and began to creak and groan, overcome with worry.

Down by the brook, a weeping willow tried to end it all. With a baleful cry, it lifted its branches to the flicking tongues of electricity above, begging to be taken.

In the end, a mighty spruce tree felt the fury of the lightning. A jagged bolt reached down from the sky and touched its crown. Its trunk exploded, and its roots sizzled in the ground. Its branches gave a mighty sigh, and the air filled with the scent of pine.

And then it was over. The storm passed. The clouds lifted and the lightning danced away, leaving the trees to dry themselves in a gentle summer breeze.