Howling, relentless
wind - roaring in from the north
penetrates my bones.
Where is it going?
It's in a hurry and wants
to take me along.
Dust flies in the airobscuring the mountain views.
The world turns dull gray.
Like a steeplechase,
Tumbleweeds race each other
to some finish line.
Quail crouch in the sage.
We are thankful for shelter
on these windy days.
From: Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress
No comments:
Post a Comment