Beauty in the storm

Wrote it about a picture.

The children sit on the dock,
kicking their feet against the cold, stagnant water.
With each movement,
the dock creaks.
The sand below
barely visible
through the opaque blue.
Even the mountains cast their reflections on it.
Storm clouds begin to roll in,
darkening the children's once pleasant surroundings.
Thunder.
The children run home.
Except one.
He sits.
Worrying about the storm
destroying the beauty.
It rains.
Lightning hits.
Then a little girl tugs on the boy's arm.
Knocking him out of his trance-like train of thought.
He finally follows.
As he runs he looks back.
Staring back at him
is beauty,
breaking through the storm.