One warm day, the wind blows from the west. It races past meadows and over hills. The clouds gather to tell each other, “Storm is coming.”
In the woods, the pine trees bend back to look at the sky as they shake in the wind. Then, with a gentle whisper, all the pine cones close their starry tips and say, “Storm is coming.”
In a meadow, the bees gather close to the hive. With their wings, they beat an urgent message that passes from one bee to the next: “Stay close to home. Storm is coming.”
On the lake, the waves race to the shore. Faster and faster they roll until their crests turn white. As they crash into the sand, they gurgle, “Storm is coming.”
The gulls see the…