The trees have turned to black
Skeletons against the yellow-gray sky.

A storm is coming,
I know the smell.
A storm is coming.

Wrapped in silence nature shouts its warning.
Who says animals aren't smarter than humans?
They know when to hide.

A storm is coming,

As the winds picks up,
Slapping my cheeks,
I wonder at the fool I've been.
Striving for perfection,
Losing my direction,
What was it I thought I'd win?

A storm is coming,
I can smell it in the air.
A storm is coming.

And isn't this where I needed to go?
Isn't the end what I wanted to know?
And if this is it...

I'll begin again.
For, the storm is coming,
I can smell it in the air.
A storm is coming,
But I'll weather it fair.

The seasons of change have changed me again.

Copyright © 1997 wendi loomis The Seasons Change