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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