VENGEANCE OF THE NORTHER
The wind's persistent voice
haunted me on that blustery night
as it disrobed
the patchwork quilt of colors
on every maple
that hemmed the hillside.
The Canadian Norther
vented its anger on late October,
intent on driving sutumn's balm
southward to the Tropics.
The Norther is not fond
of leafy skirts and color.
It is bent on purging,
to make way for spring's beginning
beyond months of frozen marches.
Its haughty demeanor
ruffles my memories
of purple hulls and rainbows,
but I will cling to them nonetheless
with a vengeance
that only a Spartan warrior
could ever understand.
by Hardling Stedler