Scottish weather bearing down on Lochbuie coastline.
Isle of Mull, Scotland.
Wind And Rain
2//25/11
Why does my spirit soar
whenever Scottish like weather arrives
all blustery, wet, and powerful,
making no excuses, or taking names,
not caring what people think
just pushing things around
turning over what's been hidden
shaking loose old brown leaves,
breaking dead branches, saturating everything,
giving new posture to whole forest
moving limbs, trunks of oak,
redwood, madrone, bay, eucalyptus
in drunken orgy of clattering,
a radical dance to rare tune
as sounds whistle through air,
drops of water smack hard
against pavement, windows, siding, roof
with a diverse syncopated rhythm
constantly improvised, never the same
when sheets of fury are unleashed,
torrents carrying angry droplets
attack with ferocious 'kamikaze' energy,
stirring the ravenous beast in me
who'll create upheaval in mad search
for that which sustains raw aliveness
to match Nature's stormy wind and rain.
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