March Winds
Kathy Lohrum Cotton

How wild
was the wind
through bare branches
knobbed with spring’s promise
of new leaves
and its whirling stir
of autumn’s last crisp clutter
beneath the maple tree.

How wild
its eerie howl
in the moonless night,
the rattle of windows,
the sweep of frenzied
spruce trees
against the house,
crash of a broken limb.

And how wild
today's sudden gust
that chased my hat
down the road.
Wild, my breathless pace
as I followed close behind.


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