Storm Born

She isn't caught in the storm. She called it. I painted her the color of deep water and sky merged into one — because she is both the calm and the chaos. The lightning that erupts from her afro isn't destruction; it's electricity born of intellect. The orange sun rises beneath her, not to light her way — but because she is the reason it rises at all. Clouds of red and blue churn around her waist like the world responding to her presence. She gazes forward with the unbothered certainty of a woman who has always known: the weather bends to her will.