It is the end of March,
Loam awaiting yet to ether the air
An unexpected swath of squalls
Yesterday
Hurt expectant in the spring,
Lake snows, icy pellets
White-outted my roads home
From dealing with my vehicle
At the dealer dealing with my vehicle.
Driving, I felt the fury of that weather,
Intrinsically beautiful, and
Infuriating.
As I’d been driving, I was trying to
Process spring, this particular one,
I’d been searching for
The sad answer to why the
Huge limb, stalwart
Of an ornamental pear
That I watched come down
In some slow and awful majesty
Barely days ago just had to go.
In the slow motion of the moment, though,
Derecho, precise, I swear,
It just went through
As I sat watching
From the conservatory in
The house with no power.
I remembered from my growing
Being keen to heeding warnings, and
Calming, doing best what
I know how to do,
Ready as can be, need be, and
Powerless so bedrock
Save my own.
Soon it passed, that wind,
Eleven hours we’d no power.
I was glad of course when lights came back,
But I was in the storm.
Yesterday we walked to the springing
Storm-disheveled back, barn gardens
In their ancient knowing years appearing,
And I near-crumpled to the
Downed tree’s limb,
Aghast and sorrowing
When my friend said,
Look. She’s budding.