I wouldn't call this my story. More like hers. My mother's. It's a story of unbridled joy and unmasked peace in the face of one's darkest storm rolling in over the horizon. The kind of storm one can view, wide-open, from their stance in their country backyard. Nothing to hinder the scene, but the rolling hills in the distance. Where fields bleed into sky. Into darker and darker sky.
Deep black clouds loom large and oppressive on the horizon, sweeping closer and closer. The winds pick up, sending a rush down your spine, lifting your arm hairs with goosebumps with its chill and frightening thrill.