Ghost Trees Wailing At the Wind

 

A picture couldn’t do justice to

Arctic wind’s ferocity

blowing across the

great lake thirty or forty m.p.h.

white caps rushing toward shore

water, trees, sand and leaves …

combined

Shhsssshing relentlessly,

my hoody inflated into

a reverse parachute

pushing my head and

body backward.

Dots of rain prick

my face

the occasional

snow flake spirals by.

 I’m forced to retreat

to calmer climes

along the road where

not so long ago it seemed

cold before cresting

the hill at the shoreline

facing Arctic wind’s

ferocity.

I make my way up the hill to 23

turn left onto the bike path for

a mile or so, past

the alabaster pipeline then 

return 

the way I came

to 

the top of

the hill.

Descending the hill I hear

the SNAP CRACK! of dead fir trees

breaking like sticks

the bottom half still attached 

to the ground

The top looking like a snarling beast, suddenly 

Escaped from 

Inside the tree 

patches of bleached wood where bark had fallen 

with jagged, pointed, dagger teeth 

An angry beast released from its confinement within the tree 

Splintered teeth pointing skyward

still attached to

roots rotten and brittle below ground

(the only force keeping it 

from tipping over)

the broken trees are pointing skyward

with snarling fury

the soul of each tree’s pent up frustration

raging at nature’s forces

finally allowed to express

their furiosity at

the plague of beetles who caused their

demise, long gone now

off to greener pastures.

The fir tree’s plaintive wails,

their pent up frustration,

their solitary ghost sounds

their howls of pain

unheard

in their after lives!

The fir trees wail with silent fury now,  they’ve become

ghost trees wailing at

the wind!

Their pain punctuated by

SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!

the initial sound

of ultimate

rot …

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