This is actually really beautiful, anon. I think of late nights being in awe of the storm winds, seeming so powerful, like the hand of God himself is moving through the darkness; or the waves of wind on wild grass, longing to surf on them like a wasp or fly would. Thank you for sharing.
" Over the roar of other looms,
hearing this wooden shuttle thump,
she feels the urgent pull of June
drawing her through those dusty panes,
back to the farm. She’s ten again,
passing blue roadside chicory,
into the woods, the shadows’ cool,
clack and scrape of pine in wind.
She’s climbing the oak-- strong branches bend
and hold beneath her calloused feet.
She shinnies up the furrowed bark,
hugging sweet sway of breath and leaf
toward the place where green meets blue "
Post too long. Click here to view the full text.