Sometimes, in the middle of an argument, a door flies open,
lightning flashes, and steely needles of rain begin to fall.
You feel as if you're in an open field,
unable to find a cave or a ditch.
Here, on the bluffs, where a log house
can be leveled by straight-line winds,
we've had practice dealing with storms.
If a hard wind gets inside,
the walls can fall, the roof rise and tumble,
and debris piles on top
of the basement of fear and loneliness.
If I have to carry a plywood sheet
to nail over a broken window,
I carry it knife-like into the wind,
I walk sideways so the force won't throw me.
As I pull the door against the wind, it resists even more.
Then, at the instant when the door is edgewise
and I'm backing into the house,
I must take special care, making sure my fingers
won't get slammed into the jamb wood,
or the glass shatter over me.
I must resist the wind, just a bit,
push against it, and yield slowly
so we close the door together.
- Timothy Young