Music of the storm.
It was dead still calm, wet-blanket so’s you couldn’t breathe. Linus, who I swear has the intelligence of an eight-year old, got in my face, yowling something about “Run! Take cover!” and when he’d done his best, he zipped down the stairs to snug up in his favorite dry hidey-hole.
Forty-five minutes later, a giant started blowing on 200-year old oak trees, stripping them of all their ball moss and dead ends, and then it turned into a whole army of giants whooshing through the sky.
OK. Maybe this is getting serious, like when you go to a concert and expect …read more
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