No holding back the thought of a colossal tide rising, a wall of wind picking up to throw everything it’s got at us.
Sleep is out. And dreams, well, dreams, wisely, headed for the hills long ago leaving their uglier cousins to fill in for them. Twisting and turning. Dark and getting darker. The trees are short-lived and they know it. A branch snaps.
the pendulum swing
Soon countrymen we will be serving at the pleasure of one leader. Rise up. Let our voices be deafening.
the only sound