Alarms wail and people flee and scream. There's a tornado coming. Gigantic. Majestic. With an utter disregard for the concerns of the bourgeoisie.
I think tornados are beautiful things. I think about them all the time. I love them. I am 'in love' with them. I get crushes on them. I am often shy and clumsy in their presence. I asked one out for a drink once but, who was I kidding, the tornado didn't even know I existed and just kept moving.
If a tornado were to approach now my mouth would become dry and my eyes would be agog. 'Check out the stovepipe on that!' I would run toward the tornado, declaring my adoration. I would be swept up by the tornado. The tornado would turn me around and around. Rapidly. Over and over. My heart aflutter. I would rise up high through the tumult and be delivered into a calm spin cycle, gently revolving amongst the clouds. The noise and chaos beneath me. Trailers, discarded bikes, road signs, abandoned pets and livestock passing by me. Transcended. Ascended. Heavenly. I am hers. I am hers until she tires of carrying me and drops me back to earth. Hard. And my limbs will break and my neck will break and my back will break and my heart will break and I will probably die. But, it will have been worth it. What a ride!