Wind Meditations in the Columbia Gorge

Wind racing over the waters

Careening around canyon corners

Ice cold waves leap with delight

...Idiot kayaker, not so much

High desert mountains

Try on a flimsy spring dress of sheer green

Teasing again

Blooming flowers witness

The grass being whipped

Trembles in the shredding wind

Curious clouds

Sniff alien contrails

As they scurry by

I don't think flowers

Often experience existential dread

But you never know

Before the gale

Flickering like bright yellow

Daylight fireflies

In a symphony of windblown grass

There's no telling which baton

Belongs to the conductor

There's those flowers again

Acting all happy

And shit

Shy plants looking back and away

All the time nodding consent to nothing in particular

Surveying the dead and wounded

At the end of the grass battle

In memory of those

Who dared to show their faces to the sun

Hey flowers!

Suck it!

"the sun is a miasma of incandescent plasma"

- T.M.B.G

Comments

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