The smooth edge of the front
hangs above the horizon toward the east.
A brightening light
spills between the line of the ridge
and the cold slate of the clouds.
The wind that blew hard and strong
all day long yesterday
is just beginning to stir again.
Its sending brought a fresh
scattering of leaves and limbs.
Branches dead or weakened from other winds
fell from trees,
caught in the grass beneath them.
Trash and debris from passing cars and trucks
fluttered in the clumps of fescue along the road
until some burst of breeze lifted pieces,
moved them to some new catching place.
Tonight, they say,
the wind will lay again
and tomorrow will come more gently.
We will see, I suppose,
though I know
it is the stirrings within
that more determine what sort of day will come.
It is a different air that brings hope or despair,
a rushing from the heart
that often scatters its debris
across the pattern of our lives.
furnishes its blessing
like a gentle breeze
in the burn of a dry, hot day.