August of Wind

Sly, warm and slinky, the August of Wind was one of endless possibilities.
Oh what fun to blow all the ripe apples off the tree at one time,
to lay bruised and rotting under the cruel, hot sun.
And what a delight to blow gently through the garden greens, with her warm breath,
sending the pale green tempting aroma wafting down to the creek where the roof rats congregated.
They lifted their rodent heads and imagined salad for dinner
before a night flying up and down the cable wires and jumping on and off the roof.
The apples nearly gone, the lettuce eaten to the ground,
the August of Wind just smiled. She had more tricks up her sleeve.
Tired of little backyard games, she swept across the State of California
burning down more area than in any year tracked since 1930.
But she was just a summer breeze. What havoc will her dad
December of Wind bring when the warm, silky weather is done?

Lucy Autrey Wilson