A Catholic soul, a chocolate heart, Connected somehow to names That end in risky vowels, A chance to be taken in Dallas. This wind blows from the northwest, Dry but dustless, Chilled and restless Indian ghosts from ancient Colorado. This is autumn wind, Unwelcome now in spring. Warring across the dry line, Breeding storms along the cap rock's edge, Feeding on open country filled with moisture. Full of the feel and smell of open fires, The dry and stifling sigh of Mexico.
Whole cultures fly across the Texas prairie, Just to stand before the wind is wanderlust.
These timeless winds have filled my ears since birth, Have rippled my eyes like transient pools of water. As I sweep an arctic mass across the frozen starlit sky. This throwing down of leaves reveals a spiteful side to trees, their brazen naked limbs exposing birds and places insects hide. Catlike, I can almost cock my ears, I feel them twitching backward, catching rustling sounds of unseen dramas. The weakened sun seems hurried, diving toward the western rim, and stingy with its twilight now for months to come.