by Russell Rowland
When a storm comes down from the mountains,
coniferous pines and deciduous oaks
stiffen their backbones to bear the brunt of it.
You can almost sense this,
around you, if the forecast hasn’t kept you home.
Birds take heed from the trees,
and tighten those little talons. They weather out
what they cannot prevent. And yes,
near or far, weak trees will fall; nestlings be blown
right out of their nests.
Collateral damage, more or less.
Sometimes we had prophets, who spoke of a day
not one stone would be left
on another—and a few turned out accurate.
Rachel weeps for her children,
while birds resume singing, and birches unbend.