A whisp of air can ruffle a page,
A breath can disturb several more.
But when a gale force wind visits,
Pages are slammed and tossed to the floor.
Bring me twine, tape and adhesive,
And for good measure, a pen and a flashlight.
It's time for editorial reparations ...
These pages will not exist as an oversight.
Cut short, lopped off, pared down to the core,
Seize this moment to effect repairs...
Bring wine and cheese for inspiration,
Wait! On second thought, let me outside if you dare.
It's time to face down that wind with a firm stare,
Before my jaw recedes into my skull.
Caught in a tangle of deception,
Gripping my being, seizing my soul ---
That wind rules and erases my work.
When I become immune to the numbing cold,
When I stop resisting.
That is the time I become an observer
Of nature's power
And smile.
