... And the wind blows; Nature mocks man, towering in her power and magnificence, looking down as a god upon mortals. She sweeps away the works of man contemptously, moving with an easy grace across her domain. Man steps aside, cowering, for she is the power, the strength, the beauty.
Man retreats to his citadels while the trees are bent, bowing to the power. And the great fir nods its head; birch cower under her greatness, her might. And Man watches, and boldly confronts the storm, but is cowed almost at once, and withdraws to shelter.
Such is the terrible beauty of Nature. ... The trees writhe in agony, offering leaves and needles to appease their lord and mistress; even the great fir is wearied, and pleads for mercy. And Man is left in awe, doubtful of his power.Written September 27, 1985 (at approximately 11 pm)
This poem is dedicated to Hurricane Gloria. I had stepped out to see how the hurricane was progressing. It was impressive! So I quickly retreated back inside and wrote this.