A tornado, a hill, rain, sands.

I lie on my stomach on the side of a sandy hill. 

Rains and steady wins whipped dust into the air.

Not knowing if the cyclone were ten feet or miles away one waits for that which might be the end.

I feared for my life and said a prayer,

(The same prayer I had rushed as cousin Larry was showing his gun to Tommy.) 

The tornado ended or passed by, but dark patches in the sky belied a future danger.

 

Elle est manquer à moi
friends are missing to me,

 tornados keep trying to kill me.