THE DAMN WIND, a poem by Steve Haarman

It began in the late afternoon and
continued blowing into the early evening
as the sun was setting, unremarkably.
During the dinner hour it seemed relentless,
causing wonder of what havoc it might be up to.
During the night it sustained itself
in an unremitting drone.
The never-ending hum seemed like drums
Before it added some whistle effects.
During the middle part of the night
It developed into an orchestra which
included a featured percussion section.
The music was stirring and brought about
emotions you no longer remembered.
Morning produced a fierceness
accompanied by snow and water.
Trees were filled with hoarfrost.
I thought of the North Dakota farmers,
who dealt with this repeatedly
along with the other obstacles
in their farming lives.
We don’t want to give up, they would say.
We can handle most of these setbacks.
It’s just the wind, that damn wind. It gets to us.
This windstorm gave me a glimpse of what
those dear souls put up with incessantly.
I know why they are my heroes.

Steve Haarman
January 23, 2015 ^

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