A sudden wind set the unlatched garden gate
clapping out a cadence to the full choreography
of leaping branches and shimmying leaves
in the morning spectacle of October
our rickety buildings creaked and sighed
with the resignation of impending ruins
the horses heard the open gate
as reveille to stampede
into the wild valley below
adding their frantic voices to the din
storms are more anticipation than action
we are all prepared for storms
prepared in our genes and our imaginations
prepared for ruin and chaos
though it stop just short of our brow
prepared for loss by every turn of head
each breath in the light and the dark
the storms we dream even now
to succeed the one just survived
the storms that someone left behind
as legacy
as they stormed through the gate
and down the wild valley below
as if this is what we all want
storms
storms
storms.