Wind Blows.

If it wasn’t for differences in atmospheric pressure, I  wouldn’t write a poem right now. I’d be outside. Running.

But it’s the first day of Spring, so from the inside looking out, blue sky is nothing more than a still facade. Meanwhile, havoc wreaks the treetops, Tibetan flags, and swirling dust in my backyard. 

The Poem: 

Wind blows. It drives me crazy.

It makes me cold, restless, and lazy.

Through gritted teeth, I walk into it.

Through squinty eyes, I try to look past it.

It dies one minute and I relax.

Then it picks back up and you know the facts:

Wind blows. It drives me crazy.

The End.

Nick sitting in a wind blown tree in Point Reyes, California

Nick sitting in a wind blown tree in Point Reyes, California

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