Chasing Hats

This morning as I listen
To the wind up in the trees
I'm reminded of perspective
For it's just a gentle breeze

To those whose life is rooted
On the open Plains
Where the howling of the Northers
Rattles window panes,

Uproots the Russian Thistle
That becomes a Tumbleweed
And sends it ever rolling
Spreading all that noxious seed

And how it's hard to walk
Without leaning to the wind
Unless you're chasing hats
That the whirling banshee sends

Flying 'cross the prairie
Where it lodges against a fence
Until you run and try to grab it
But, a gust catches it and hence

You're left standing, leaning,
Braced against the grit,
Abandoning the headwear
That still hasn't lit

But, races with the tumbling balls
For chance to take it in
Upon a place where it might wait
Until you run and try again

And you turn to face the onslaught
With your hand to shield your face
Against the rolling, prickly tumblers
In their helter-skelter race.