She Is the Wind

She whips and whirrs, wild and wanton Gaia’s grasses nearly come out of the earth She is in a frenzy, stirring things up and away At first it is scarves and paper plates, then there is an eerie calmness. A quiet, deadly, silence and a black sky at two in the afternoon. She is back, sounding like a freight train, choosing her victims. She begins flinging cattle, logs, and sheds. There goes the silo! Twirling up into the sky like a top. On the Richter scale she is a four; and she is damned proud of it. Which house will she take? She chooses her victims helter skelter. Her anger and rage are in full blown whipping and swirling stage now. She is diabolical, ruthless, unforgiving. She is the wind.