image from Hope at pinterest.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The meteorologist gestures grandly at his map~ meanwhile, my knees whisper clandestine truths in Morse code crackles. The barometer lies, but my hips remember every coming storm with impeccable timing, like a retired sea captain who still smells salt in the wind. Seventy years, and the best forecast comes from vertebrae chiming like wind chimes in November.
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