Post 202: wind, rock, aspens, South Carolina, cotton, poem, painting, Maine

by Carol Bass

WHEN THE WIND TOUCHES YOU

the mountains feel it too
roaring up the rock face
like a locomotive centipede
rustling through high passes
filled with yellow aspens

sycamore leaves rattle
sword-like palmetto leaves
sound like cotton seeds,
furry marbles being tossed
back in the cool shadows of the cotton gin

the wind, always with you
breathing in
breathing out
as the woodpecker flies around the house

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