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.
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.