The people in the west are predicting storms to hit this evening.
Here in the East, the morning sky was red – always a warning and something to dread.
The last time these things were said, a tornado swept through the forest, uprooting trees and laying destruction and broken dreams in her wake.
Yes.
That storm was female.
Tonight’s could be, may not be – no longer is anything certain.
So I’m battening down.
Hatches.
Things next to hatches.
And the hatches of the hatches.
Hope has been set to one side for the moment.
Tomorrow morning, fate and fortune willing, we can pick her up and carry on.
Yes.
Hope is female.
Fear is not.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment