The storms, most often, move from the southwest,
Across the plains of Oklahoma,
And rumble their way down the literal path,
Over homes and fields, and barns and people,
Finding that one tree among the growing plants and bending its limbs its own way.
Today, however, the windmill faces northeast, welcoming the summers sun,
Feeling the field beneath it, growing, it’s green blades cutting the sky and making life right again.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
Claremore, Oklahoma
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