Beyond the clouds that cause the drought, a mysterious location we know diddly about. Our memories gather stories we’re told of a beautiful place we head when we’re old.
For some it is feared and fully unknown, for others it appears tons better than home. Our competitive souls don’t compete for who goes. Everyone fits and all of us flow to reach this spot holding the snow.
The whispering voices that entered the tunnel spoke not of a light of cement or of trouble. The horses they prance in the wide meadow fields and the people they dance in their suits and their heels.
You can do as you please, what’s your greatest desire? Bowl a few rounds, or turn crisp in the fire?