When you saw it in the distance,
what did you hope would happen?
Did you hope to avoid devastation,
or to be included in it?
Chasing the storm, tasting the wind,
desperate to capture, to fly, or fall.
Constantly dancing in the wind and rain,
can you bear to dance in the storm?
It’s brewing again. You know that now.
Where does that leave you, though?
Running and hiding, for fear of falling,
or flying from comfort for the chance to fly?
Fly? Is this flight, this maddening wind?
This thing that plucks you from normality,
tosses you about without notice,
and then deposits you upon the rocks?
Perhaps. Each storm is an invitation
to absurdity and impossibility.
Each flight, you risk everything,
for the chance of a different view.
And now you sit awake, dreaming.
Praying the storm gathers this night,
that wild winds pick you up,
and carry you far away.