Adiós Indiana. Brown Publishing, you will be hearing from me.

Be quiet, silent in fact. Strong: immune to the winds.

A furious hurricane couldn’t make me budge.

Stubborn or Spineless? Who knows?

Who cares?

I am livid. A triad of fury.

The wind blows my hair into my eyes and it annoys me. My hair has always annoyed me at least I can expect it, appreciate it for its constancy.

I am not used to this, the rage I mean. This debilitating anger.

But I don’t punch a wall or yell. I’m not going to write an angry poem or paint an ominous abstract. Nah, that’s just not my style.

So I’ll just be quiet.

Silent in fact.