"We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike." ~Maya Angelou

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

A Windy Day

The air between is in a froth today,
roaring across the bean field,
hurrying through the yard,
stripping trees and setting
every bell to chiming.

Weeping Willow, the grasses
and my hair whip and wave
in a wild, free dance.
I have tied on my hat
and secured the child's
swing with a rope.
The tree house stands
secure and strong.

Leaves tumble and skip

through the gardens, catching on
any stem or leaf in passing,
mulching perennials and
gifting those who slumber
beneath the soil with layers
of curled and colored warmth.
These tiny Violas seem unperturbed.

My little friends, the birds,
are nowhere to be seen.
I imagine they have clamped
their tiny claws around twig
and branch and are having the
ride of their lives in cedar or pine.

Even the cats have taken
themselves away from
the lash and noise of
this unabating wind
that drives all things
untethered before it.

There have been casualties.
A table flipped, breaking
both statue and porch.
A styrofoam ice chest
flew past the window
and is gone.

The circle of chairs
around the fire pit have
fallen face to earth
in silent submission.

However, inside the prayer garden,
as I had hoped,
there is but a gentle breeze.

The fountain gently sings
and this last Fall-blooming
Iris stands unscathed,
full of sweet scent and
dappled with shadow.


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