The Wind

The water's crazy
it doesn't know where to go
crows and swallows flying
frantically overhead

The trees bend, reluctant
to change their position,
their branches stretch way down
to kiss the shivering grass

I walk down toward the water
the wind and squirrels rearrange
the lawn's brown leaves

The small strip of marsh
(when the river is low)
has sunken -- disappeared
Once, a haven for the birds,
and feeding spot for the Canada geese
is diminished -- no more lunch

I walk up to the yard
A barrel, left for the trashmen
rolls over -- it's empty
The lid rolls down the street
I go after it but it's going too fast

The chimes are ringing
as if some event is about to happen
and a birdfeeder swings and falls
A squirrel scampers up,
guiltily, but he didn't do it --
the wind did