Howling Wind

We’ve had breezes before

but not like this.

They’ve roared before

but not like this.

The Santa Ana’s blow in, shake around, and blow out.

but now they’re staying.

Dry, crackling leaves.

drift in a calm, gentle breeze.

And trees crash and fall

In a ripping, tearing wave of destruction

that chills the bone, dries the hand, and stills the

peaceful,

beating

H

E

A

R

T

Pulses of static creep across sticking sweaters

Beds covered in simple quilts

Pine needles snap and break beneath booted feet

The winds in California.

The End

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