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Storm Mode

Summer,


Days are longer

Attention shorter.



Scrolling. Swiping.

Starting. Stopping.


Shorelines



Dry up. Rage on.

From one thing. The next thing. Is another thing



Streaming,

Netflix not riverbeds.


Searching,

Google not horizons.


“We’re in storm mode. They’re excited. Why wouldn’t they be?” My dad does not expect an answer because he already has one. “It’s pretty boring to be a weatherman without storms.”


I Google ‘Storm Mode’.


Summer,


Hours are longer

Tempers shorter.


Flowing. Swirling.

Rising. Sinking.


Whitewater


Foams thick. Blurs edges.

From all wonderings. To no wonderings. Is only wondering a warning


Currents circling,

Opinions not facts.


Clashing,

Between rock not its faces.


“It will miss us. We’re lucky. We’re in a gap. It’s going around us.” Dad understands his own luck without the connection to the emotions caught above and below the front.


I find, ‘Storm Mode has to do with the wind profile.’


Summer,


Light is longer

Breaths are shorter.


Storming. Raging.

Flooding. Disappearing.


Water

Attempts escape. Breathes through.


Barely holding up. Holding on. Not beholden to


Raining,

Sweat not tears.


Cycling,

Drops without balance.


“We’ll catch the rest of the week’s weather tomorrow. Should be nice. Still, they’re burning up below us. How can we continue to adjust?” My father is nervous about the middle that remains.


I understand we live on ground with excellent drainage. The danger is not about the water, but the wind. Imbalance affects us all.

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