I was at home visiting my parents, yet we were sitting out on our church lawn: my mother, father, and I. We were picnicking but there was no picnic food. There was no food at all: we were sitting at an empty table. We all knew this huge storm was coming from the north and we were all talking about it--we were anticipating an awful rainstorm that was going to last for days. Everyone was preparing to stay inside. As we were discussing the events, we heard three planes fly overhead from the north. They were old WWII planes with the three propellers in front. They were painted black and white. We watched them and knew they were trying to fly out of the impending storm by going south. Then one broke away from the others and came and landed on the road in front of the Mennonite church, where we were. An attractive woman got out of the plane and walked toward us. She was dark (India Indian dark) with long straight black hair that reached to her waist. She was wearing slacks but no top. Her bosom wasn't covered at all. And she proudly displayed her large brown breasts as nonchalantly as a nudist. I got up quickly as she approached us to offer her my own cardigan sweater since she was quite underdressed for the occasion and the setting. Yet she refused it. Then, was when I noticed she already had one on—yet it had a of life of its own and never wanted to cover her breasts.
The storm hit our old shanty-like house. Water came through the walls and the ceiling. Yet we stayed inside.
(January 21, 2003)