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Come What May Chapter 2The sun was beginning to set when Big Mac and Dash arrived at Sweet Apple Acres hand in hand. The rainstorm had stopped long enough for the pair to get back.
Dash had felt the need to ask him not to mention their encounter to his sister, she knew how protective A.J. could be about her brother and didn’t want to deal with her domineering behavior. Which Big Mac felt that his personal life wasn’t any concern of his sisters, so he fully agreed with Rainbow Dash.
“Will I see you soon?” He asked her.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be stopping by to say hello every now and then.” She teased him; he looked around for anyone out and about before bending down his head and kissing her gently on the lips. The feeling still so new and exciting, Dash felt her legs getting rubbery. They separated and Dash waved goodbye as she took off for her home in the clouds.
When she arrived at her home in the sky, she was surprised to see an unexpected face at her door.
Come What MaySweet Apple Acres was busy finishing harvest season; most of the trees were bare having already harvested all the apples from them. Big Mac was picking away at the few trees that still held their delicious fruits, his strawberry blond hair starting to stick to the base of his neck from the sweat he was working up. Though his hands were big and calloused from many years of hard labor, his touch was light and tender with each apple picked. Rainbow Dash loved to watch him work, his vast frame might make you think he was clumsy but he was anything but; he moved effortlessly about his work.
She would only allow herself to watch; never would she fly down and talk to the handsome farmer. Dash knew that she was crushing on her friend Apple Jack’s brother, but she would never act on her feelings. She would not break that man’s heart like she had done to so many others. It was never intentional, Rainbow had done her best with the relationships she had in the past, but things just nev
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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