The wind screamed through the trees; the mist hugged the castle like there was nothing behind. Suddenly, the rain lashed down; the thunder roared like a lion and the lighting struck. The castle stood strong against the storm. Devastated, Macbeth entered the luxury private castle room with guilt etched  on his face. Staring down at his bloodstained hands, he cried. 

“This is a sorry sight!” 

“A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight,” hissed Lady Macbeth. 

Go get some water, and wash this filthy witness from your hands, and why did you bring though daggers back to this place?” 

 Macbeth replied nervously, “I’ll go no more, I’m afraid of what Ive done I dare not. 

At that moment, the draft running through the castle caused the colossal creaky door to slam shut, blowing the dim candles out. 

 Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead are silent as pictures.” 
Lady Macbeth snatched the daggers out of Macbeth’s hands.  

“Infirm of purpose!” shouted Lady Macbeth.  

Her dress tagged along he as her black shoes echoed down the gloomy hallway. 

Who knows…

Who knows what a tree has seen seeing the worst things the at could possibly be and bring out the best in humanity?

 Who knows about the deep blue sea how old could it be?

 Who knows what the sand has seen sitting still in the Ancient thinking sea?

Who knows what the sky will sea, whilst looking down at me?

 Who knows what nature sees from the trees, the sky and the deep blue see?