A perfect beginning. I don’t think I took a breath that first paragraph. What a surreal scene described with compression and power. And how interesting: To take a catastrophic weather incident, describe its most sensually stunning details and then move two weeks ahead. In Florida in the fall we have had our share of devastating hurricanes, memorable enough to write about so I feel duly inspired. What weather occurs in your end of the world and how can it start a fantastic flash piece?
Branches thwack the pocked metal roof. My car windows are smashed, and I sweep shards from the seat before sitting behind the wheel. Boots crunch pedals. A warning hums, and I watch, dazed, as neighbors rush to close doors and cover cars with mattresses as the hail returns.
Two weeks later, we walk along the river with hands clasped, fingers held together like mittens. We are not cold, we are comfort. I always forget my sunglasses, and you always bring an extra pair, a ridiculous pair. Today, a red and black checkered frame, clunky readers that you position on the bridge of my nose, above my ears. They wobble as you kiss my cheek.
The weather is one shitstorm after another. Hail, tornado, extreme heat, extreme wind. There was something called a firewhirl forty miles from Cincinnati. But the skies are perfect now; the light is more flattering than before…
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