|On thunderstorms and bombs
||[Mar. 20th, 2003|07:29 pm]
|||||Linkin Park - In The End||]|
Thunderstorms are so beautiful. We're getting one of the best I've seen in a while, here, and my window looks east into a nearly unobstructed sky. Yay, dorm on a hill. Some very discrete bolts of lightning, thunderclaps that fill the sky with sound, and medium-heavy rain. It's a good evening to spend inside, watching the sky.
On the other side of the world, the sky of a million people is being lit up, not so much with lightning as with their attempts to repel an ultimately unstoppable force. The sky of a million people is filled with sound, not so much of thunder as of explosions and anti-aircraft guns.
Here, though the sky may rage and flash and shout, the people below it are for the most part safe, and in a short time this storm will pass.
There, the sky will flash and rage and rain death, and it will do so for a long time. The people below that sky huddle in their houses and pray to their god that the rain of bombs and bullets and missiles will spare them and their families and their friends.
Here, the sky's displays are a very force of nature.
There, they are a force commanded by an angry, mortal man, sent to kill another angry, mortal man, which will result in the deaths of many other mortals who had nothing to do with this family feud.
I feel lucky to see such an awe-inspiring storm taking place above me.
They may feel lucky if they survive.