Warning on the Plains

look for the leaves first, they
turn over, exposing white
flesh.

the hush hits first, some unholy
quiet, a feeling of movement
without a single
breeze.

move carefully now
and plan, where will you
go when the wind
lifts?

the universe shifts, birds
get spooked, fly lonely
patterns, then stop adding no
noise.

to the porch-sitter
these ominous echoes
pinch the nostrils, urge the voice
to shout.

not much time now, lock
the doors, ready the radio,
move the dog
down the steps.

in the cellar,
the hush scares spiders,
an old sled provides
comfort.

the kids sing inchworm songs,
and moms listen,
the roar coming closer.