I'm still distracted
by each shift in the wind,
each spray of rain
the expanding fog rolls in from the dark hills,
the afternoon light, so bright,
now tastes of gray.
The air cools sharply
and I lunge at peeling windmills along the street.
They go
Yah!
and Yah!
until I remember
-Oh, right,
my purpose is back this way.-
I sheathe my stick sword
and turn away.