Whirlwind

Violet night unfurls

As a storm builds in intensity

On a farmhouse in remote rural

Southern Saskatchewan

The land is so flat

Sky becomes a living creature

Boiling ocean of air

Capable of many things

Wind’s bitter bluster

Accelerates force and speed

As lightning flashes

The expanse is illuminated

In the inky midnight

funnel clouds take shape

Observed through a window

Near the basement

Just in case shelter is necessary

Ten years old

Worrying about the horses

And the solitary yearling calf

Huddled up in a decaying lean-to

It is a marvel to witness a cyclone form

While warm and dry

Inner world silent and still

Except rain’s percussion

Sounding out a rhythm on

The prairie porthole

Chin cupped in my hands

Elbows resting wide apart on the window sill

For an hour I stood

Witnessing this marvel

Until it dissipated

Its threat eliminated

In the morning light, the sun

Bursting with radiance

Revealed the wake of destruction

Grassland whipped about in waves

Shaped into living sculpture

Tumbleweeds tangled in strange places

And one solitary shed on my neighbour’s land

Dismantled neatly

like IKEA furniture

Not all maelstroms

Bequeath devastation

Little tornadoes are lovely to watch

From a distance