White undersides of clouds suggest no shadows from above. Ballooners loosed the ties and drifted up, showing defiance to the ruins below. If there must be shadows, let us control them.
Life is peaceful on clear days. From my basket I wonder how life would be different if there were more of it on the ground. The breeze against my balloon knows nothing of the breeze that took my home.
Tornadoes. I don’t understand.