wind

there’s something to be said this morning

about the stillness of the trees;

a windless morning, a breezeless morning which

speaks its language through a glance.

the trees are the chalkboard of the wind,

telling us what we need to know of where it’s going,

of what it’s up to; should we re-think our hats.

but last night...

last night the warning came over the smartphone:

expect gale-force winds with estimated gusts of 40 knots, and

under the darkness of cover, I considered glass, the morning coffee

set-up of the balcony, about tomato plants potted in fragile terracotta.

there's a sense of helplessness with a gale-force wind.

one can’t shovel it away to an unoccupied space; I thought of isolation,

of darkness, I dreamed of uncontrolled flight.