February 5, 2024Poem
The wind is breathless
naturepolitics
The wind is breathless
Panting at my heels
Throwing up the dirt
The ground, still too wet
For sitting.
The air too agitated
For a momentary respite,
Kicking stones
Displaced
In the rush of water
As heaven’s gate is opened.
The storm is
Far from abating
And there is a surging
River of cloud
Streaming overhead.
I am running before the mast
Like a ship high on the tide.
Swiftly moving
Taking a chance on a dry spell
When it would be wiser
To stretch my joints indoors
Mounted on a machine
Fixed to the floor.
Battened down
Safe as houses
As the storm hits the windows
Shattering my peace.
A reminder of its power
A wrecking ball
A party pooper
Rumoured to have
An appetite for change
Feeding on a frenzy
Of frustration
When nothing is safely
Rooted in the same place
Forever.