There is a warning whisper in the wind.
The birds have heard and gather on a wire
to watch. My old ears cannot hear much sound
without my aids. I search and finally find
new batteries: the wind becomes a roar!
I quickly dial them down from music to
a conversation: whistles, whines and more
now wind around our house. The clouds race to
go there from here, and here from there. I see
the colors change from white to grey. The snow
begins to fall and white returns in swirls. The ice
forms on the twigs–the trees begin to know
they’re in a struggle with the wind. They try
to bend, and hope the promise was a lie.

– Verse “The Promise of a Storm” – Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, Feb. 22, 2013