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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