The wind tunnel here is strong —
shrill blasts along the sheer and sterile buildings,
loud streaming of the ads and football chatter,
straight lines of life-suppressing roads
and matching suppositions of acceptable life-paths —
It’s no surprise we all should feel
weary, aimless, craving sugar
In this place I summon
everything alive
to help me —
the brave trees at the edges of the parking lot,
the smiles that people sometimes find,
the memory of winter reds against the gold
of winter grass
on the wise land
where we will learn to reconstruct the patterns
which show us how to live,
which give us peace.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 11, 2015
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