We Need to Have A Talk About Writing...

 (This message was edited by thundersbeard on 06-05-17 @ 9:50 am EDT)

(This message was edited by thundersbeard on 06-05-17 @ 9:50 am EDT)

I drift slower and lower until I am over an isolated farmhouse. The walls are logs, the roof is thatch. The animals are disturbed by my nearness. They whimper and moan and pace restlessly back and forth.

The door of the farmhouse opens and an old man in his sleeping shirt stumbles out into the summer night. He looks around but sees nothing to alarm the animals. Then he looks up. Can he see me? I do not know. Sometimes I think I might be visible. At other times I think perhaps it is only that people sense I am near.

For whatever reason, his face does not look happy as he scans the sky. Does he think a storm is coming? I can give him a storm!

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Next installment must include a storm
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