The Storm is gathering. A butterfly moves its wings, and nothing happens. It flies across the field, and the field remains quiet, quiet as Death.    A whirlwind is mounting    On the other side of the Earth.    Fire burns in the wind and burns hot. The wind is stoking the flames. Embers rise like fire. Nothing can burn here, they say, nothing at all.    But it still does.    Words spread like wildfire across the Earth. Sprit and Life erupt into the open. Wind takes flight in the field of dreams, and blood fuels the fire.    The Storm rides across the lands.    A butterfly is flapping its wings.             m                      Web Counter is used on this page.