Sunlight’s glow and the sudden wind gust

do not slow me down
tho I am blinded as I walk.
Cardinals fight more than forage
on the muddy creek bank. The wind whistles,
following the lay of the land,
without leaving tracks as I do.

Memory of a Covid-19 death makes me frown.
I will call my friend, just to talk,
and then I will place words on a page
to stand tall like thistles,
protected by needles, at home on arid land.
The words I write survive drought and heavy dew

and bloom like purple weeds come August.