I watch my garden in the wind,
a wind blowing before a storm.
I remember winds like this,
over forests, the sound of it
high in the pines,
over wheat fields,
the golden waves in the grasses,
across lakes and ponds,
whitecaps on the waters,
and on my face,
making me squint
and hold on my hat.
Today my little garden
dances in this wind
before a storm comes in.
No comments:
Post a Comment