tumbleweed

john f. marok.  country house.  40"x30"  oil/canvas

*****

wind set beautifully last evening, dropped down below the horizon leaving a cacophony of sounds unlike anything heard before: ducks imitating coyotes, broken glass on peanut butter, oil soaked into pillows. this morning wind rose with disdain. aloof, full of insults behind the back, a walk that spoke of anger
management issues, a repressed desire for control.  at noon time wind started to pull the strings, making a puppet out of the tunnels, the street corners, public parks. a handful of sand decided not to take it anymore, stood up to challenge the unfolding of events, the hierarchy, the reading of tea-leaves approach to life.  sand's smallest son, tumbleweed, rolled on out of town creating a diversion before the confrontation. wind chased him down. sand, seized the moment, built a castle. on the edge of town wind caught tumbleweed but couldn't touch him, blew right on by. got trapped, transfigured, reshaped by windmills, sails, turbines. tumbleweed returned to the castle hailed a hero, writer of poems,  player of harp's secret chord, a unifier of division.

*****