You were like a whirlwind, flying in at random with no consideration for time or dates, no apologies for your mistakes, crashing in and knocking down villages and homes with your chaos and laughter and beauty, unannounced. You demanded attention and I gave it, you settled in like you were here to stay, you settled in with that entitled look upon your face. "I'm back, baby," is what you seemed to say, and you knew I'd cook you dinner and do your laundry and wipe the mud you left on the floor, all because I was too nice and too needy to say NO. I'd smile on the outside, and on the inside wonder when exactly you'd disappear, and what it would take to clean up the mess you had left behind this time. That was you, wreaking havoc on the world. Did you know that I'm a neat freak, that I can't stand disorder in my place of residence, that I have a touch of OCD, and I like things just so? It was okay, though. I held a mop and a bottle of Clorox, a broom and a dustpan, a vacuum and some carpet cleaner. You hugged me, and I held my breath, counting how many days you stayed before you left, calculating the damage you'd do to my interior... It was massive. It was colossal. I knew it was coming, but you can't really prepare for Hurricane Sandy unless you decide to evacuate and even then, duct tape on the windows can only do so much, you know? It was like a 9 on the Richter scale, if you were an earthquake, if you were an earthquake, you would be off the charts, and I wondered how destruction could appear so beautiful. It was catastrophic, and I had had enough. I closed the door again, locked it, but this time, I changed the keyhole. You couldn't ravage if you didn't have access, and you wouldn't have access if I didn't let you in. You were like a whirlwind. Beautiful, but damaging at best. Now, you're an Aurora Borealis. Your electrons, they collide with the upper reaches of Earth's atmosphere, and they- you- are amazing. I don't look for you, I don't search the skies on dark, clear nights, I don't scan social media for signs of your upcoming presence. Days go by, and I don't think of you. Then, sometimes, I happen to glance out of my window, and I see those northern lights burning the brilliance out of the sky itself, and I know Mother Nature didn't do that all by herself. I smile, and then I close the curtains. I like it when my house is clean.