The slow steady steam down to the ocean flowing with debris (logs, leaves, roots, muck) out into the wide open with a current that picks up that steam-rolls that rushes over and over and over and under continuing all the way to the pastures to the silt ponds to the neck of the woods to the thick forests of dead wood and moss to the blankets of salt at the delta.
Three towns over the towns forming a halo are flattened. Thank goodness for low monthly installment plans. Thank goodness for the good old American Flag flapping in the howling wind that rips and tears at the underbelly of all that is good and sacred. Thank goodness for the backs that are made to stand on for so long.
I’m a prop. How about you?