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