I live alone out here in my little cottage
at the edge of the prairie –
alone – well, not completely…
there’s always the wind.
When I go outside she rushes up,
pushing me as though
I am needed somewhere urgently.
She tosses the tresses of the trees
like a wanton woman demanding attention.
In wild fits of pique,
she overturns garbage bins,
and throws papers and plastic
to cling to pasture fence line.
She prods me swiftly up the street,
around corners, down alleys,
tugging at my clothes and hair,
leaving me in disarray and robbing me of speech.
Arriving home, I shut the door behind her
attempting to catch my breath.
She howls at being left outside.
She moans at the windows and doors
and sporadically rattles them with a
fusillade of rapid bursts,
complaining at the unfairness of it.
She would like to come inside,
toss plates, glasses and napkins into the air,
clothes into confusion, fling towels, bedding to the ceiling,
and all about. Create havoc,
push me from room to room
until I sit crouched and trembling,
submissive in the corner.
© By Patience (aka Cottage Lady)(firstname.lastname@example.org)