Up above the sea’s grey flatland, wind is gathering the clouds. In between the sea and clouds proudly soaring the Petrel, reminiscent of black lightning.

Glancing a wave with his wingtip, like an arrow dashing cloudward, he cries out and the clouds hear his joy in the bird’s cry of courage.

In this cry — thirst for the tempest! Wrathful power, flame of passion, certainty of being victorious the clouds hear in that bird’s cry.

Seagulls groan before the tempest, — groan, and race above the sea, and on its bottom they are ready to hide their fear of the tempest.

And the loons are also groaning, — they, the loons, they cannot access the delight of life in battle: the noise of the clashes scares them.

The dumb penguin shyly hiding his fat body in the crevice … It is only the proud Petrel who soars ever bold and freely over the sea grey with sea foam!

Ever darker, clouds descending ever lower over the sea, and the waves are singing, racing to the sky to meet the thunder.

Thunder sounds. In foamy anger the waves groan, with wind in conflict. Now the wind firmly embraces flocks of waves and sends them crashing on the cliffs in wild fury, smashing into dust and seaspray all these mountains of emerald.

And the Petrel soars while crying, reminiscent of black lightning, like an arrow piercing the clouds, with his wing rips foam from the waves

So he dashes, like a demon, — proud, black demon of the tempest, — and he’s laughing and he’s weeping … it is at the clouds he’s laughing, it is with his joy he’s weeping!

In the fury of the thunder, the wise demon hears his weakness, but he’s certain that the clouds will not hide the sun — won’t hide it!

The wind howls … the thunder rolls …

Like a blue flame, flocks of clouds blaze up above the sea’s abyss. The sea catches bolts of lightning drowning them beneath its waters. Just like serpents made of fire, they weave in the water, fading, the reflections of this lightning.

—Tempest! Soon will strike the tempest!

That is the courageous Petrel proudly soaring in the lightning over the sea’s roar of fury; cries of victory the prophet:

—Let the tempest come strike harder!

M. Gorky