Friday, February 19, 2010

Leaning into the Wind


After two weeks of colds, wheezing, coughing, sinus infections, ear infections, a stomach bug, Pink Eye, Fifth's Disease and a plane crashing into a building down the street from my husband's office, I think this poem is appropriate for today. It's from a compilation of poems by women who lived, worked and mothered on the High Plains in the northern heartland.

Leaning into the Wind by Rose Kremers

Flood, drought, wind, hail, tornado, fire, financial trauma-we suffered them all, each in turn slicing still another sliver from my heart until I thought my heart was dead, it must be dead, had to be dead, for survival depends upon courage and resilience and fortitude and I had none of these. A hollowness of soul crept in, leaving me bereft and lonely and alone.


I don't know where it went, that utter despair, that dryness of soul. It's gone now, disappeared like a shadow at noon. I misplaced it somewhere in that whispering sea of grass, somewhere among the bare-root pines, or perhaps at dusk among the wild lilies in the gray-gumbo prairie. It was lost in the sinking of roots into the hardsod - a simple thing after all, to anchor, to stay. It just takes a leaning into the wind.

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