A storm blows in off of the water
the wind is a constant presence here
sighing, whispering, crooning,
moaning, shrieking, howling,
like some imminent freight train
or a lost, forgotten soul
all the trees up here lean to the east
slightly twisted, shaped and bent
as if some celestial gardener
delighted in oversized bonsai

the wind is a constant presence here
we hang quilts over the windows
from November to March
to muffle the wind’s cries
and block out the draft
as a child I thought the draft
was some invisible creature
hearing, as I constantly did,
“Shut that door child, you’re lettin’ in a draft…”

the wind is a constant presence here
this old farmhouse deals with
the wind the best it can
creaking, popping, shuddering,
shifting slightly on its foundations
the barns, they also struggle
to maintain their integrity
in the face of adversity
each year they lose a little ground

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