The shit storm came as advertised.
It said “It’s not my first.”
I knew my words had lost their way.
With few blessings for the cursed.
The umbrella store had closed her doors.
The winds did blow and gust.
Change was ripe and felt like rain.
Which settled in the dust.
With her eyes upon horizons.
I thought, ‘Best to ride it out.’
There is Golden in that silence.
And there never was a doubt.