the squally wind
pinballs up the valley
propelled by who?
by nature? by god?
by the wind itself?
for a moment
all is quiet
the trees take a rest
the birds settle
in their roosts
the tiles cease rattling
the old barn’s beams
steady themselves
the owl inside
shifts on its perch
until the force that will
sends the next
barrelling squall
to bash and bend
and torment one and all
for nature? god?
the wind itself?
are laws unto themselves
and we mere mortals
hang on as best we can
to a world in a spin
out of all control
now doesn’t that make
you feel so small