Mølle

the pasture is empty. rich green grass abides alone
today. beneath sunken gray skies, the lambs have fled,
absent from their grazing beside the stream. doors are
shut, latched, as the stronghold of shelter
from an invisible, dangerous fury of power.
forbidding oceans of dark, twisting cumulus
clash in cold and bloody battle. a day of gloom
and silence, except for the blowing wind.

there are no children by the swing in the garden
today. no young, bright minds observe
snails under the rocks, and no small noses
smell the sweetness of tulips. the bench in the
courtyard is vacant, without the passion of love
between a young man and his bride to be;
no whispers or giggles, or smiles of serene
joy to light the stones of the archways.

the world has shut itself in, awaiting the passing of the
tempest. some gather around the hearth to hear
grandfather tell stories of golden adventure
long since past, from a day of youth now gone.
daring to peek out the curtain, through the shutter,
reveals only fury. ears pressed against
windows can hear only the shaking of forest and
ferocious, blowing wind over the earth.


alone, a man slips out to face what others dare not
brave. silent, unnoticed, with head bowed, and his
coat tightly shut, he marches forward with
purpose, companionship lacking but for a stray
raindrop whipping past, portending greater threat
yet to come. his pace does not falter, his course is
strait. he goes forward this day because he knows
this day is for him, and for his Mølle.

at the top of the only hill, it is crafted well, built
strong. it stands in requisite lastingness this day, to turn
stone and grind vestal grain, bridling blind violence and
power from the blowing wind. today is singular, one of
determination. much work must be done, and there is
little time to rest. the toil is not for self, but is a
work for the good of all men, a duty willingly accepted by
one man, entrusted with a precious, peculiar call.

together they grind, by pressure and tearing
force. the stone turns with speed, and the
grain yields to higher destiny, a new form.
today is a refinement, from an existing
coarse nature to a greater majesty, that will be
seen and felt by many, though the present work is
in the hand of but one man and his stone, and the
power of the terrible, blowing wind.