Love to watch the backyard in a battle with the wind. Trees, their rain-heavy heads bow and swerve in all directions; an audience in final throes of prayer meetin’, led by a fiery Reverend Storm.
I stand just inside the doorway watching nature move, but then–I am a part of it as my robe is blown against my body, and raindrops leave their mark with spatters on my face.
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(New Media Moment: Have I entered the larger picture, the space, the story–or has it broken through the Fourth Wall to reach me?)
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology