it starts with a tickle
on the back of your neck
the movement of those tiny hairs
in the slightest breeze
that arouses the senses
the stimulation just the same
to make you plant your toes
where you stand
when all the chaos swirls
around you
news of the churning plastic ocean tides
or pandemic fears
or children's tears
in the face of starvation
or simply broken appliances,
flat tires, and speeding tickets
whatever the whirl the wind
will turn and shake you with
your toes have been planted
and those roots grow deep
and deeper yet with each
and every windy day
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