Storm Weaver Part 4

See previous Storm Weaver 100 word story posts for part 1, 2 & 3.

The pouch sits on a shelf,

in my house,

that is tucked in the hillside.

I stare at it for an hour.

Expecting it to shake, rumble, spill out its contents,

aglow and crackling with energy.

My patience is not rewarded.

The bag just sits there,

as any inanimate object does.

I take it down, pour out the stones.

roll them in my palm.

and swear I feel heat,

wind, the smell of fresh rain,

plants, coolness, and heavy solidness.

I slide them back in,

Return the pouch to the shelf.

Stare some more.

Until the cat knocks it down.

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