Dear Wigleaf,

Hello. How is it where you are? Is it cold? It hasn't been that cold here yet—hey, remember when talking about the weather was chit-chat and didn't carry notes of the end of the world? Yeah, me too. Wow that was a while ago—

The weather's been pretty quiet lately over here, but every now and then I remember when, a few months ago, I woke up to the sounds of a tornado uprooting these ancient trees near my house.

The tornado pulled these big cypress trees out of the ground like they were weeds, then just moved on. Down the street it entered a sunglass store—it went in and out without picking up any sunglasses, the shop lady said. Later, on a different day, one of its tornado friends flipped over some parked cars at a strip mall on the edge of town. Another day we had to look up the word for "water tornado"—a waterspout, it's called. So now we have tornados. No casualties yet, but man, those sounds on that morning. End of the world notes.

Anyways, I didn't mean to bum you out. This has been a pretty nice, quiet year for me and for that I am thankful. I'm also so happy that you picked my story—you made me feel connected when I am, as always, so far away. I love you too! Do you want to be my pen-pal? I promise not to talk about the weather next time.

xoxo
Ioanna




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Read Ioanna Mavrou's story.

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