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As the Wind Blows

A great storm is building in the darkness over the Gulf, waking the elderly and wooing them in nightclothes to the shoreline where waves gobble sand like the huge steel scoops of steam shovels. The wind blows hard off the Gulf

stripping the elderly of their robes, plastering loose flesh against the warm brittle cages of ribs, pulling back thin silver wisps of hair like the hands of fierce Comanches desperate for the scalps of the fallen. As the wind blows hard off the Gulf,

the elderly keep rising from their beds and easing seaward, filling old bodies with the wild, invigorating blasts, turning weary lungs into the breeze- swelled canvases of catamarans, slicing old bodies recklessly through the dark and raging sea.

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