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As a child
standing upon dry, short-mowed, summer grass
turning brown, sparce in places
the wind dominates by velocities
bigger than the sky that holds it
blowing wild, wayward gusts
through the flashing green and gold leafed trees
arching skyward from the ditch bottom
rustling leaves of songs and clatter of branches
to eye level where I stand on a rise.
Clouds pile and tumble around the northern horizon.
The air coagulates electricity
full of unseen energy
felt
like emotional storms
calling for, warning of . . . .
Outside alone, undirected, free
I know this air could spawn sizeable and unstoppable power.
Transfixed, empowered
no grownup to shadow
my interpretation of Earth
I become myself
listening to the wind.
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