30 Days of Writing: Day Eight

I hear it in the distance

Like a far off wind chime

Like an approaching whistle

Too far out to tell when and how

Too close to understand it at all

When it arrives

All plans are off

When it arrives

The future will be bright

When it arrives

I’ll be

unprepared, unready, undone

Swept off my feet

Tossed by the wind

Thrown to and fro

Captivated and Catapulted

Encompassed and Engrossed

Unequivocally made new.

 

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