Free

Few things are as freeing as letting one's hair down in a high wind. Sections of waves whip around and stretch like the serpents of some golden medusa. Also on that list is being barefoot in cool, Spring grass--playing catch, feeling the power of my own body, warm in the sun. Waiting for a hurricane, sprawled on the cold concrete of the acaterrace, watching purple and green lightning made by distant transformers, heading together into some roaring, fearsome unknown.