The smooth edge of the front

hangs above the horizon toward the east.

A brightening light

spills between the line of the ridge

and the cold slate of the clouds.

The wind that blew hard and strong

all day long yesterday

is just beginning to stir again.

Its sending brought a fresh

scattering of leaves and limbs.

Branches dead or weakened from other winds

fell from trees,

caught in the grass beneath them.

Trash and debris from passing cars and trucks

fluttered in the clumps of fescue along the road

until some burst of breeze lifted pieces,

moved them to some new catching place.

Tonight, they say,

the wind will lay again

and tomorrow will come more gently.

We will see, I suppose,

though I know

it is the stirrings within

that more determine what sort of day will come.

It is a different air that brings hope or despair,

a rushing from the heart

that often scatters its debris

across the pattern of our lives.

Or else

furnishes its blessing

like a gentle breeze

in the burn of a dry, hot day.

H. Arnett

4/5/11