Brothers of the wind

In the memory the day is quiet,

That day the big wind blew up the valley.

Yes, the kind of wind that explodes.


I remember the booms and lights.

Raked by creaks and groans of a straining gale,

Sifting through the always darkening skies.


I forgot the look in my brother’s eye.

There, that same light, against dark skies

Telling me, pulling us, outside

Into the fields, where wind upon wind

Would pull us along a day-long voyage.


Off in the corner of the pasture,

The last of the haystack.

Still tall, now a monument against all this.

Unmoving, challenging.


There we could climb to the top,

Unfurl a big cloth and dream

of flying to the stars, while crashing down

To the soft, loose hay below


In the memory, mom’s voice reaches out across the

crashing and howling, to bring us back home.

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