Introduction
 

"The Brewing Storm"

 
 
 

“I stood on a hill, overlooking a valley.  Tired and weary, I thought I have to rest after a long journey.”  The skies above me were overcast.  Rainshowers would prevail every now and then as it always been these past few days.

But I could only shudder in fear upon the rumblings it made.  “Where is the sun?” I said, “It’s almost about noon and yet, he seems to be hiding somewhere.”  “Is he afraid of something?”  “Why doesn’t he show up?” The clouds are getting more darker and heavy, pregnant with rain.  A tempest seems to be in the offing. 

The winds were blowing heavily against my tired and weary body, sending shivers down through my bones... It was cold... Indeed, it was bitterly cold.  The air were a little bit too chilly to bear even for a “seasoned” man like me.  I pulled up my clothes together to get some warmth and decided right then and there to postpone my journey to wherever my feet aches to go.  I started finding me a suitable place where I can pitch my tent and rest my horses.  The hill was rocky and almost barren except for a few trees scattered here and there.

“Ah, that must be a good place to stay!”  I mused to myself after finding a place I thought would be nice to settle in and weather this passing storm.  There was a huge cypress tree with wide reaching branches, and straddling beneath it were big chunks of solid granite rocks huge enough to provide a buttress against the wind which were becoming gustier every moment.   “I must hurry up before the skies unleashes its mighty fury.”

Tired and hungry, I just sat down inside my tent pitched on this windswept, rock-strewn, nameless hill that overlooked a wide rolling valley.  Exhausted, I quickly fell off to sleep with not much time to ponder and contemplate about life in general or anything else, unmindful about the storm that begun outside.

The winds were howling like a hundred shrieking wolves, the rain’s pounding on the ground and on the roof of my tent.  “How long must this weather be...?  All day... all night?”  I whispered to myself, more annoyed than worried getting blown away by the winds.  I have already made secure my horses, and my tent is strong enough to withstand this tempest.  I pride myself in being a Gypsy, people with no permanent place to stay.  Nomadic bunch with peculiar traits and culture that are both interesting and entertaining, mystifying and frightening to some, an ever source of wonderment for the country that allows us to ventured into.  “Ah, I’m so tired.  My eyes are just too heavy and my body are just too weary to get up and worry about this storm.”  “In the morrow...”  I said, “I shall be on my way again...