Andrew Hubbard
Into the Wind
The wind today
Is a force to be reckoned with.
The pines and oaks and hemlocks
Sway and toss and bow to each other.
I can’t help thinking
They enjoy it
As much as I do.
It’s December. The wind
Throws knives of cold.
I put on a heavy jacket.
The wife won’t come with me.
Even the dogs show no interest.
That’s ok. My own company is satisfactory.
I step out and the wind pulls my breath away
The cold keeps it from coming back
Until I turn downwind and pull in hard.
I head into the woods,
The trees break the wind
At my level, but up high
The treetops roar
With a sound like nothing else.
The deer don’t like it:
The can’t hear what’s coming--
They flick their ears
And make their dainty way
To their safe place
Their secret place
That I have never found.
The squirrels are in their huge, messy nests,
The birds have taken the day off,
I am alone like the wind.
Andrew Hubbard was born and raised in a coastal Maine fishing village. He earned degrees in English and Creative Writing from Dartmouth College and Columbia University, respectively. For most of his career he has worked as Director of Training for major financial institutions, creating and delivering Sales, Management, and Technical training for user groups of up to 4,000. He has had four prose books published, and his fifth book, a collection of poetry, was published in 2014 by Interactive Press. He is a casual student of cooking and wine, a former martial arts instructor and competitive weight lifter, a collector of edged weapons, and a licensed handgun instructor. He lives in rural Indiana with his family, two Siberian Huskies, and a demon cat.
Into the Wind
The wind today
Is a force to be reckoned with.
The pines and oaks and hemlocks
Sway and toss and bow to each other.
I can’t help thinking
They enjoy it
As much as I do.
It’s December. The wind
Throws knives of cold.
I put on a heavy jacket.
The wife won’t come with me.
Even the dogs show no interest.
That’s ok. My own company is satisfactory.
I step out and the wind pulls my breath away
The cold keeps it from coming back
Until I turn downwind and pull in hard.
I head into the woods,
The trees break the wind
At my level, but up high
The treetops roar
With a sound like nothing else.
The deer don’t like it:
The can’t hear what’s coming--
They flick their ears
And make their dainty way
To their safe place
Their secret place
That I have never found.
The squirrels are in their huge, messy nests,
The birds have taken the day off,
I am alone like the wind.
Andrew Hubbard was born and raised in a coastal Maine fishing village. He earned degrees in English and Creative Writing from Dartmouth College and Columbia University, respectively. For most of his career he has worked as Director of Training for major financial institutions, creating and delivering Sales, Management, and Technical training for user groups of up to 4,000. He has had four prose books published, and his fifth book, a collection of poetry, was published in 2014 by Interactive Press. He is a casual student of cooking and wine, a former martial arts instructor and competitive weight lifter, a collector of edged weapons, and a licensed handgun instructor. He lives in rural Indiana with his family, two Siberian Huskies, and a demon cat.