Whenever I see rain, I hear the Hueys again.
Always, when the rotor spins, you hear the staccato whap, whap, whap of the blades slicing the air. It’s different during the monsoons though, more real; as the twin blades bisect the raindrops.
A place filled with mostly unfinished stories. Begun primarily as a direct result of my association with the OC Writer's Guild
Whenever I see rain, I hear the Hueys again.
Always, when the rotor spins, you hear the staccato whap, whap, whap of the blades slicing the air. It’s different during the monsoons though, more real; as the twin blades bisect the raindrops.