Who has Farmed the Wind?
Prairie sentinel standing lone,
beacon, buoy of a restless grass sea,
registering, quivering air, tiny movements,
like rodents stirring, deep in winter tunnelled drifts,
living in the bounty of the weather.
Oh gods, do not stir up the clouds,
already they drift, gravitate slowly forward,
unwise attraction, coming dangerously near,
attracted to the blades, circling slowly, slicing
harnessing the weather's emotions,
drawing power, building strength.
Knight, Champion, be swift,
evasive, slip through,
under, over, lift, and tilt,
capture this windmill's lance,
overturn it's intention,
make it by force, deal honestly,
pay rightly for that which it has seized,
and set free the wind,
soul of the earth's breath.
Writing by Regina Stemberger