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a potpourri of sense and feminine lunacy

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it stays still

Sometimes, when the wind blows, everything goes up in the air.

It all swirls around and flies about until the storm dies down. By then, who knows where anything is any more. I just have to do my best to pick up the pieces and start over again. Sometimes though, the wind makes no such impact even though it is just as fierce. Everything flutters but it doesn't go anywhere. It stays still. It's rooted, grounded, held in position by a force that's powerful enough to withstand the pressure.

That's good, because i don't want to scatter too far.