Farewell Bend - Gabriele Gent

A furious wind roars down the canyon.

Forced to accompany this torment,

are the tents not yet staked down.

If not for a single passerby

all would have blown into the river.

Setting up tents in the dark is hard enough

without competition from the

fierce canyon wind playing tug of war,

yanking the nylon structures away like kites.

With each gust you hold on.

The trees above sway in an erotic frenzy

to the moan of the wind.

A faint drumbeat can be heard in the distance

over the whipping fabric.

Then the rain comes.