35 words

Exhaused.
She sat under the lamp light
drinking tea.
Considering the direction
of the wind
Feeling the solar flares aimed
straight at these northern climes
Lighting up the night sky,
magnetic fields uncertain
and alarmed.

November

She thought about it and decided that this was, just maybe, the saddest November she could recall.  The darkness was falling, like a curtain, a little lower each day.  All the things she once loved about this place, the cold crunch of snow beneath her feet and the brilliance of a gazillion stars overhead, just didn't seem to be enough to satisfy the present.

Of course, she was well aware that she was projecting into the future.  A distant day when she would be, could be, happy.  Where the dreams of twenty years would begin coming true, popping into reality like kernels of corn.

So much silence between us.  It feels like the wind blowing on a cold winter's day across the prairies.  There is desolation and yet the wind cannot extinguish this current that binds us.

My telepathy is stronger than it used to be.  You are probably to thank for these increasing psychic abilities that tether us like a pole and ball.  I hit it hard with an open hand, but all that force just gets wrapped in a downward spiral.  Perhaps we are best described by gravity.  Our force brings us down.