The first sentence of a composition of about 500 words is the weather forecast: there will be a storm tomorrow. ....

At the weekend, I had dinner and turned on the TV. Another bad weather forecast! I looked at it unhappily.

"Call the police! Be alert! There will be a storm tomorrow ... "Storm? My heart is full of expectations.

The next day, sitting at home, I only heard deafening thunder resounding through the sky, like a fierce gun. The sky is gloomy, tightly covering the sun and the blue sky. Sure enough, a storm is coming!

The wind is blowing harder and harder, and the wind is howling. The head of the big tree has been blown as low as possible, and those branches that can't stand the' test' have been blown away by the strong wind. Even the flowers lost their old smiles, because they were blown to pieces and lost their proudest petals. Lightning keeps rolling forward from the end of the black cloud, and the white light is very dazzling. Then, the thunder kept moving forward like a giant's footsteps, and the sound was deafening. At that moment, it seemed that the earth was shaking. There was a flash of lightning, a clear thunderbolt, and then it began to rain cats and dogs, just as the gods received a signal to pour the water of Tianhe into the world. The heavy rain slammed on the roof and the glass, playing an amazing movement. At this time, another flash of lightning dazzled me and I couldn't open my eyes. People in the street run so fast that they can't wait to fly home. Only a few Nightcrawler with umbrellas disappeared without a trace.

Fengshen's sharp arrow roared and cheered at the helpless earth. The trees on the roadside shook their clumsy limbs as much as possible to avoid the rain arrows, but in spite of this, the trees were all black and blue in an instant. The small pond in front of the house was soon filled with a large area of yellow water. The duckweed on the river is like a frightened child, curled up in a corner of the pond, the river turns violently with the wind, and the waves on the river are constantly undulating.

Although it is as dark as spilled black ink, the rolling clouds are faintly visible, and the clouds are like the face of a monster. Blue-purple lightning is the monster's terrible and ferocious smiling face.

There is no one on the path; In the sky, several stragglers are desperately hiding from the rain under people's eaves; The flowers on the roadside were also torn by the strong wind; Weeds can't stand the test of the storm and have already bent down; The clothes hanging in the corridor are also "dancing" with the wind. ...

I stood at the window, looking at the scene before me and thinking about the golden sun. The storm will pass, and the dark clouds will still be driven away by the sun. Tomorrow, people will still wait for the bright sunshine.