Wentworth Miller and Stormy Weather.

The Hurricane

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,

I know thy breath in the burning sky!

And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,

For the coming of the hurricane!

 

And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,

Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;

Silent and slow, and terribly strong,

The mighty shadow is borne along,

Like the dark eternity to come;

While the world below, dismayed and dumb,

Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere

Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

 

They darken fast; and the golden blaze

Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,

And he sends through the shade a funeral ray—

A glare that is neither night nor day,

A beam that touches, with hues of death,

The clouds above and the earth beneath.

To its covert glides the silent bird,

While the hurricane’s distant voice is heard,

Uplifted among the mountains round,

And the forests hear and answer the sound.

 

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold

His ample robes on the wind unrolled?

Giant of air! we bid thee hail!—

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;

How his huge and writhing arms are bent,

To clasp the zone of the firmament,

And fold at length, in their dark embrace,

From mountain to mountain the visible space.

 

Darker—still darker! the whirlwinds bear

The dust of the plains to the middle air:

And hark to the crashing, long and loud,

Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!

You may trace its path by the flashes that start

From the rapid wheels where’er they dart,

As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,

And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

 

What roar is that?—’tis the rain that breaks

In torrents away from the airy lakes,

Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,

And shedding a nameless horror round.

Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,

With the very clouds!—ye are lost to my eyes.

I seek ye vainly, and see in your place

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,

A whirling ocean that fills the wall

Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.

And I, cut off from the world, remain

Alone with the terrible hurricane.

 

William Cullen Bryant (1854)

 

My thoughts and prayers are with all of those living on the East Coast of the US who are being affected by the onslaught of Hurricane Sandy at this time.  May God bless you and your families and keep you all safe and sound.

And as a certain characteronce said …

Michael Scofield:  I’m Michael by the way …

Prison Break – Season 1

 

Michael Scofield:  My brother told me there wasn’t anything in the closet but fear.  And fear wasn’t real.  He said it wasn’t made of anything; it was just [he pauses]

Michael Scofield:  air.  Not even that.  He said you just have to face it.  You just have to open that door, and the monster would disappear.

Prison Break – 2005