The sound of their distress carries on the night air
Along with the smell of manure and dusty dry leaves
The weanlings voice their displeasure in a higher pitch
Fences separate them from the only security
They have ever known
November weanlings frantic in despair
They have no idea that tonight their lives
Are changed forever
The cold winter winds come
With the fall of the auctioneer’s gavel.
Pewter haze lies on the cloudy pillow of the sky
The world is scarcely breathes in the snapping cold
The palely glimmering tangle of branches is
Impaled by the black starkness of dully gleaming trunk
They join the white and silver mist of snow and sky
The breath of the Goddess disturbs the frosty crown of branches
Tiny bits of silver rain down to gather at Her feet
As the Lady of Frost walks the winter woods
The wind came up out of the west
Snuffling through the predawn darkness
Nosing through last years leaves
Piling them in ranks under my window
The west wind pushed aside the prairie grass
Looking for a playmate
The earth obligingly sent dust devils
To dance against the sky
The caragana twisted and railed
against their earthbound roots
Flailing their branches wildly
In the rushing air
Finally!
The west wind finds the playmate he has been seeking
The tumbleweed pulls his short roots from the prairie
And joyfully the wind rolls the weed over and over
Until it catches up against a cross fence
Gently the wind rocks the tumble weed free
And together the two go bounding across the fields
The tumbleweed gladly surrendering
To the strength in the wind
The wind gathers more tumble weed as he goes
A whole herd of tumble weed laughing and running
Released from their root bound prison
To run free on the breath of the tumble wind