We think things are set in stone, the years before us
Quiet and smooth,– at least, here in America, in the heartland.
We see the days ahead, one after another, long and comfortable in their sameness.
The guys at the coffee shop, the weekly grocery run,
The ching of the cash register at our place of business.
But then the tornado comes, or the flood, or the death
And things are never the same.