in a place i had been before, maybe
on a dusty red road
this feeling crept up which i've felt many times
a most uncategorizable feeling
like the oddest form of yellow
so this yellow-like feeling crept up in me
and the wind started a gust.
mixed with the yellow-like was coming this great fear
rising up like the coming of sick.
the clouds swirled about, and there they came as I was sure they would
they surrounded me at a sort of distance
close enough to alarm but far enough so I knew what I was in for
one after another they came down from the angry sky. some white, some deep deep grey. thin and long, huge and stout
any and all kinds, they were.
whimpering, i cowered in fear and panic
searching hopelessly for a space to wedge my body and wait for the end
4 comments:
that's nice
Somehow I imagine Faulkner writing something like that.
word verification word: "conarel", light blue, wavy like a flag, garamondish font.
What do those words have to do with that photo is what i wonder though.. And when on earth is that from?
_corrine
corrine, the words have nothing to do with the photo. it was something i wrote and i found that photograph on my desktop where i had saved the writing. don't you love the image? i can't remember now who took it. must have been greg.
You're still afraid of tornadoes!?
No, but in all honesty it's a great piece. A wonderful read, though quite a bit gloomy.
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