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| Unsplash photo via Matthieu Joannon |
High Plains Wind
(after Wind by James Arthur)
it's true sometimes I cannot
stop myself from lifting
the roof shingles
unleashing tumbleweeds snapping
tree branches
muddying the pool I'm nothing
until I happen
barreling down from the North
filling eyes with grit
nostrils too
pelting the streets with dusty sleet
above wheatfields
surfing the waves of grain
so full of high excitement howling
I borrow the arid topsoil
and fling it into the ditch
arriving with news of the bindweed
and the horseflies
at times buffeting you so violently
in ways you register
as fists
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2018
I am blessed to live in a climate where we have day-long gentle rains that allow the oaks to tower and the corn to grow without irrigation. We are currently several inches over the average rainfall for the year, and yet in the High Dry Plains of Eastern Colorado, even an inch of our rain could save crops and livelihoods. It's desperately dry there, and the wind is unrelenting. When I read Wind by James Arthur, I knew I wanted to tell the story of a more savage and remorseless wind than his rascally wind whose antics include turning umbrellas inside out (I never owned one until I moved to the midwest), stealing hats, and embracing as light as a touch. The wind back home is downright mean-spirited and vengeful.
