Cornfields and wide feelings. Softness tied up to clockwork seasons. A wandering eye foretells the future, pocket full of starlight and seeds. All things true at once, and there you are, still blue, ever since you needed the word for it. Sometimes you need a tornado. A way home, a way out. The door opens, shelter is nostalgia and satin ribbon against glossy hair still full of bounce. On one side, ice and bubbles. The other, heat and shapes. In between, dewdrops and folding horizons. Your weather, a dream, all variants of light. There are only two ways to see it: up and in circles. But there is more than seeing to it.