There’s something about a storm. The power, the foreboding, the potency, the strength and might of it. Especially at sea, when the waves thunder and violently roar in response to the anger of the skies. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck, the trepidation sends cortisol racing through my body as I cower meekly before it. Watching the lightening rip through the atmosphere to discharge it’s venomous bolts fiercely on the earth below; hearing the tumultuous booms of thunder rip through the streets, houses, valleys and vales, is both terrifying and enthralling, yet strangely compulsive. I want to run and hide, but am rooted at the same time. I’m perturbed by its dreaded potential, yet mesmerised by its monstrous beauty. Yes, there’s something reverent, spectacular, and savage about a storm.