I was never more terrified as a child
than watching Dorothy’s house ripped
from the ground, flung through the air
in spirals of fear. Her, peering
through the window, clutching Toto
to her breast, collapsing on the bed
awaiting the inevitable plummet
toward doom, the crashing and breaking
of her young life, only to find herself
in an enchanted world,
somewhere between dream and possibility,
a singular gold ribbon of a road
threading its way through darkness and peril
toward spires of green and rumors of home.
.
Al Fournier
.