Winds have not begun, yet. <br />Silent...too silent. A hush. <br />Water in the sky, rapids <br />Through beds of December... <br /> <br />The hunting cats approach, <br />Each ghosting through the woods, <br />Padding. Silent...too silent. <br />Wolf stands bristled. Knows. <br /> <br />She looks at me. Bristled... <br />Knowing the forecast <br />Of pen to paper... <br />Storm...carnage....<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poetic-forecast/
