I have left the Roaring Forties
am now in the Sensible Sixties.
I have left the turbulent tropics
live now in a temperate clime
but wherever I go it seems
the wind thinks I am one of its own.

The Tasman wind can be a pest
blowing the blossoms off the trees
snatching petals, papers and plastic bags
knocking over bins, banging doors
with gusts and noisy trees swaying
all night, keeping you awake.

Like a too hot day, or frosts at night,
the wind can be a nuisance. But why
is it so unsettling, and why so to me?

The wind of a cyclone does not gust, it roars
like a freight train. We hear it pass over
from the safety of the double bed,
under the bed with a toddler on each side.
We hope the roof won’t go – that is the fear
that is still deep within.
That is why I hate the wind.

Still, there are no cyclones in Tasmania.
Nobody told me about the hurricanes!

© fmcFrances Coll 8-10-2008