Wind
I live on the windy side of the mountain, where the voices of wind announce
themselves
In a whisper, shout or scream hiding, revealing or destroying
that which lies before their breath.
Trees dance before them, sacrificing leaves, blossoms and branches,
bending down before the moving gods of wind.
Cold air seeps into the house, chilling feet, defying banishment,
never dying, sometimes sleeping, and awakening refreshed
to announce its domination and the regency of wind.
by Carol Toba