A rogue wind broke away
from the derecho storms, bee-lined
straight up Grace Chapel Drive
to side-arm a Bradford pear,
then bellowed down the hill
across Wolfe Road, down again,
then up to snub a house, topple
a tall oak; jumped Pinecrest
to head-butt ten loblolly pines,
laid them flat out together,
roots like bloodied teeth
in gouged-up gums of red clay,
brute force leaving us powerless.
© by Patricia Killian Deaton.
Used with the author’s permission.