This was written for dVerse where we were asked to write about order, of which I know nothing.
Eye of a Tornado
She’s chaos, dis-order undisciplined, a mess. She’s the fall garden burnished leaves tumbled, scattered, deadhead flowers. The aftermath of a windy trash day, strewn boxes, gliding plastic. Even her brain’s disordered. not clinically but robustly. Flitting, flying, angling for thoughts. On sane days, she wishes she were like accountants processing, clean, thorough, detailed. White starched shirt, no stains, clean lenses, blindered viewing. She longs, prays, cries for discipline just to see, prove, what she can do. But it’s like believing, hoping, wishing, there’s a calm inside a tornado. end