Lanny

by Max Porter

a storm-warning beast, watching the weather while we sleep.

ripe with feeling, tingling with thoughts of how one thing leads to another again and again, time and again, with no such thing as an ending.

And she laughed, and said she understood, and then off she drifted in that nice way she has. Responsive to the light, I would call it. The type of person who is that little bit more akin to the weather than most people, more obviously made of the same atoms as the earth than most people these days seem to be.

Every living thing is involved.