The Northern Wind.

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The northern wind blows,
Wicked and wild,
A gust of dust, some plastic bags,
Debris flying like paper planes,
Slamming doors and crooked windows,
Shattering glass and dried leaves.
Foreboding. The clouds up north
An angry mass of grey.
Twisting, snarling, a flash of light,
Few blinks of an eye and thunder.
Pitch black, its only noon.
It crawls up his spine, the wild wind,
Arms wrap the chest, craving warmth.
A few more booms up ahead,
The God fearer recoils.
Pitter patter, the first few drops squeal,
Free of their angry cage above,
Dripping down dusty window panes,
Rain follows forth.
Parched, the sand sighs.
Branches bow down gratified.
The believer drenched now,
No shelter sought.
Earth lives vividly,
The curse broken,
The worst, over.
Evil moved on.
Rain falls gentler,
And his belief, steadfast, staunch.
Hymns.
Sweetly scented soil.
The wild wicked wind,
Vanquished.

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