There are very few things better than the wind in swnd and the big midwest skies, especially during storms.

Cotton trees are my favorite.
They’re the only tree that talks to you. They have leaves that whisper and cotton to carry your secrets.
When I was small, my grandmother told me “to grandmother’s house they go” in a sing-songy voice. All the cotton seemed to converge and gather in her yard… and I had all kinds of questions about the mysterious white specs that took over for a few weeks every year. She answered every single one.
I’d ride my bike and they would slip past my face and “to grandmother’s house we’d go…”
And so, we had a little visit on 167/365.