The Wind is Wicked

“A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.”  e.e.cummings

The wind is wicked.

It makes me feel all itchy and unsettled.

Discombobulating the ions on the surface of my skin, making me feel like crawling into a hole

and staying there until the invisible ruckus settles down some.

And besides, it plays havoc on my hair.

At night it barrels across the prairie,

a violent exhalation from behemoth hiding in the mountains to the south…

a violent goliath sneeze.

Or worse yet, it roars like a freight train just outside my window, scheduled to run at the exact times I’m about to drift off to sleep

making me startle in my sheets.

This wind would be no friend to kites,

or flags,

or sailboats.

No. it’s angry and obtuse not gentle and consoling.

It’s striped the trees of their golden leaves, and now

they look embarrassing naked, waiting to be dressed in white for winter.

And there is really nothing to do, when it’s as windy as this,

except wrap in flannel, sip a hot toddy and contemplate

(or complain?)

what one cannot control.


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