The wind

painted a wild hoedown

I got home late from the Commodore
where we danced to the music
of Dead South. The little dog
was eager for her walk,
but the neighbourhood
had surrendered to wind.
She startled
at the clang of garbage
lids flown, of siding slapping.
"It's ok," I encouraged. "Let's
go …" And so we moved up the walk
through mini-typhoons of leaves 
and sticks while above us
the trees were ecstatic
throwing arms across chasms
of concrete, touching
moving together wailing
howling and at the crossroads 
the orange streetlights 
painted a wild hoedown
onto the pavement.
High over the tallest partier
the air itself roared.
We were happy to tuck in
at last for the night
leaving the Norway Maples
the Black Gums, and the Ash 
to their seasonal celebrations.
No sound penetrated
our double glazed windows
and solid walls but
I knew it was over 
when I rose in the morning 
to find the skies
spreading sheets of tangerine
and vermilion across the carnage.

Well I only made it to day 7 in my Poem A Day - but I’m happy enough to have seven new stories to share! Busy these days rehearsing with two different singing ensembles preparing for holiday concerts and performances.

Singing is poetry after all.