Maria S
I am a snowstorm. As if I was given the assignment to slam this small town with a storm of ideas, instead of fluffy droplets that drifted from the sky, they nearly speed down like hail. My ideas rush and come in large spurts that seem almost endless, and if they aren't taken down as they come, they fly away, like lost flakes among the breeze. Rushing though my mind, like a blizzard that throws the wind into a large gust of air that pulls the snow to it, calling for company. Flying this way and that, it makes sence in a chaotic sort of way, to my own eyes? My own senses? To anyone elses? Who knows, but I'll throw these words on a page, throw this frozen water on the street. If this is babbeling, if this is a hetic storm; then don't read. Hide away. Take cover, because once the strom starts, quelling it will take more will power then I have to give.