i see thunderclouds scudding by
past the lonely hills, grey and muffled
disappearing over the horizon
driven before the gale like cattle
streaks of ice-cold rain chill the air
soaking into the crevasses of the earth
winter-bare branches reach sky-ward
empty nests perched on the highest limbs
the cold cleaves through skin and muscle
i have no respite from the implacable wind
here yet wander i, restless and uncaring
past silent trees and flood-sated streams.
i see the thunderclouds scudding by
past my lonely head, horizon to horizon
my hair grows wet with rain.
umbrellas are for wimps.