The dirty

petticoat

ragged

black edges

of the cloud

should have

told her

something.

And then,

she

should

have paid

attention

to

the

hungry snarl

sharp teeth

dog bite

of this

westerly

wind.

 Instead,

when the

storm finally

broke,

she was

  lingering

 summer shawled

and

 light wrapped,

draped

in a

hazy

memory of

 blue sky

and  a certain

yellowed

sun.

No jacket,

no shoes,

no umbrella,

no shelter.

No proof

at all

against

the change

in

this

 weather.

 

 

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