To watch a storm descend on a valley is to watch humanity as it is humbled. Yes, it is that dark, almost black shade of a sky that makes us gulp. Sure, it is a tearing wind, charging through distant trees, that makes us hold our breath. But, it is that depth and texture of the blackness; the obvious, lumbering, crushing weight of the sky that humbles us. The sheer bombast of nature in these moments reminds us of our insignificance. To watch such a scene unfold is to wonder at the sublime.
This moment of sublime, of natural grandiosity, of fright and beauty, beckons for the return of figures like that of the great romanticist and transcendentalist movements. Turner, Homer, Cole , Whitman, Emerson, and Thoreau; these men reminded us of the scale of things, of our size, of nature’s unwavering ability to overwhelm us with awe and respect.