A follower of stereotypes.
One whose pale sands mix with salt water.
where the pang of the warm blue ocean is welcomed by laughing children collecting shells.
And the Sun kisses the skin of those brave enough to fall asleep.
The cotton clouds have hidden themselves over the horizon and dare not disturb the peace of this scene.

But far in the distance is a dark cloud forming swirls.
She gets bigger by the day.
Causing the easily scared to flee.
When she hits three, some of the strong flee for safety.
Suddenly the sands have been untouched for days as the first crash of tall waves beat upon an empty line.
And the howling rip trees from their roots and bends the others.

Roof tiles are easily picked up by the strength that is the wind.
And then the lights go out. They always do.
Electric lines spark and rip apart as a falling branch tries for help.
Then the drip-drop sound of water soaking into the house you live in.
At its loudest show, a crack of light splits the sky so as to knock over a tree you've known your whole life.
When the tree falls, a branch seeks a safer fall.
So it leans towards your home.

CRASH!!!

Your home is destroyed.
Hours upon hours of the same thing happens to your friends.
Your neighbors.

But don't worry!
The sun pokes his head out to see if we're all okay.
And the shore is once again filling up with those who don't have emotional links to what was destroyed.
To them it was just a thunderstorm.
Easily forgettable and we're all able to move on.

Until one hits them.
Until it rips apart places that were "safe" because they're up north.
Until they feel they've had enough attention.
Until they know that we, as humans, have not conquered Mother Nature.

Until then, appreciate the people who endure that every summer all while they enjoy pale sands and a kissing sun.