The wind whistled past me and my stringy hair whips at my face. My imagination threatens to break loose from my grip. My sanity flies higher up to the sky, but the long thin line of my imagination is held in my tight grip. The wind howls. My imagination reacts and tugs hard against my steel grasp. The leaves dance around my feet as the tall straw grass tickles my slender legs. The mud squashes between my toes. The clouds darken and the sun can no longer fight its way through the huge mass. The wind picks up, my hair flying in every direction. My imagination yanks at my grasp and slips through my fingers, taking my sanity along for the ride too. The wind heaves them away from the grassy plain and into the spinning vortex.