2011, Year of the Tornado.
Mother Nature gloats above, giving birth to her infant wind golems, as if to say, "Oh, my lovers. Boundaries... are such a human concept."
In Springfield, on June 3rd, my nephew and I crossed through backyards, over powerlines and through canopies not meant to lay shattered across asphalt.
In those moments, we walked the afterbirth, and neither spoke.
Mother Nature gloats above, giving birth to her infant wind golems, as if to say, "Oh, my lovers. Boundaries... are such a human concept."
In Springfield, on June 3rd, my nephew and I crossed through backyards, over powerlines and through canopies not meant to lay shattered across asphalt.
In those moments, we walked the afterbirth, and neither spoke.
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