Assault on a Dove

A flock of birds swoop down the road

in the face of a churning, tireless blow

skittering the ditch, they flutter and spin

to stay in sync with their fine-boned friends.

Pellets of snow fly in opposing drift

unlike these birds who would flock together

if only they could. They circle the house looking for calm,

break apart and converge in the shape of a crown.

One lone dove drops from the sky
like a plumb line to my porch and hops chair to a chair

butter soft gray, dusting snow off her feet,

she rests on a cushion out of the wind

and tucks her head neatly under her wing.

For Sherry Marr  at EARTHWEAL, poetry for a changing world.

Rising temperatures have a major influence on wind speeds. This has been especially noticeable here in the Great Lakes Basin. According to a study published in the scientific journal Natural Climate Change, winds across much of North America, Europe, and Asia have grown faster since 2010, and the speeding-up trend is expected to continue. That's good news for renewable energy production and could be a boon for the wind power industry but brings an added risk to birds. 

Researchers estimate that up to 328,000 birds are killed every year in collisions with the blades and support towers. But back to the affect high winds in general have on birds. The ability to land is critical, especially for fast-flying birds. High wind is an assault and particularly dangerous to cliff-breeding birds. It can prevent them from accessing their nests through loss of flight control.

Wind trumps fossil fuels, hands down, but solar trumps wind. No creature likes windy days, least of all birds.

The Wildling Sea

    

   

Red flooding alert

along the coast,
again

but as with what befell

the boy who cried wolf,

we drink our coffee

and read the funnies

as the dune grass clinging

to the eroding slope—

the barrier between house

and the wildling sea—

gives way.



This poem is in response to Earthweal's weekly challenge for the "Global Commonwealth of Earth" and the theme of water. And d'Verse 's Wild Mondays  Even since I first wrote this, part of M-25 along the Lake Huron shoreline is in danger of falling into the lake due to unrelenting rain and gale force winds.

Dust In The Rain Gauge

The fires took four more houses down last night,

your fragile desert landscape up in flames.

They’re miles away, we’re safe, you set me right.

The darkling sky looks like a storm to me.

Your cat just ate a spider and licks his face,

they hide in the darkened corners of your garage.

But still, I watch the sky above our game.

You made a triple word score with a Z

and remind me where we are; it’ll never rain.

People have to have some place to stay

desert rats without the sense to flee

and water is cheap pumped in from far away

to here where fires feed on the dead and leap the pass.

(I tried to feed my X to that hungry three-legged cat)

No looming thunderstorm those kites of black.

You remind me where we are; it’ll never rain.

The fires took four more houses down last night.

I have posted this for Earthweal's first weekly challange: Fire

bearing witness to Earth's changing climate which is escalating beyond the most conservative scientist's expectations.