Ocean wind as a metaphor for Covid-- incoming reeking havoc

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The sun streams out, clouds

a puff of pipe, and the ocean a constant

thunder up sandy coast.

A shift in cold air and direction

as the wind picks up from the sound,

swooshes the sand off landscape rocks.

Rain starts to pelt as the cold drops

leave tiny circles on each stone—

brown into orange into dappled red.

The sea becomes soft steel wool,

a calmness tempers the waves

softening their curve toward the sky.

Sand molds around white fences and

tall wooded poles underneath houses.

Fresh holes scoured by sand crabs appear.

One bird flies alone in hurried flight,

single winged against storm gusts,

finds it balance.

CNN reports babbled

from the room below. I open my window,

let the roar of ocean envelope me,

look across the sea—through the invisible

threat and reach out my hand,

let the cold drops pelt, inhale the salty whip of wind.

Eyes on the horizon, feet find steadiness,

dusk falls, and greyness of sky hushes

into pewter of ocean, tallowed brown of the sand.

By Michele Riedel

From: United States

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