Rowdy west wind
what mischief do you bring
from across the valley?
Great trees, their days of sultry summer gone,
writhe and sway
in your impetuous gusts.
Withering, russet leaves cling until
they can hold on no longer,
then swirl away to the sky,
elsewhere to touch the earth...take their place
in the eternal plan.
You know, don't you,
of the two who ride your currents
high above this hill.....
feathered rogues with glistening wings
of midnight black.
How they revel atop your billowing streams!
Together, high in the waning sun of the day
they float free on churning air.
They look not down on the shadowed slope
but scan ahead to the horizon from whence you come.
They are talking up there. I hear them.
Tell me, autumn wind...what do they say?
What do YOU say?
What will you say later when you return
with the sting of ice on your breath?
Will all be well with you...with the ravens...
with us here bound to the struggles of humanity?
Guy Stoye, October 1993