Pressure (Poetry)

Change worries at the air —
the day feels overdue for it —
leaves fidgit, hang awkward on the twig
grasses twitch and shudder
the wind hiccups in small gusts —
an invisible frog in its sky-wide throat
and behind far hills a cough
is smothered by fingers of pine
lest it interrupt
as The Fates whisper —
sentencing the land
stretched hushed and knowing
they’ll send in the cold armies —
the wild mercenaries of Winter
strung out — a long low cloud
pressing on the horizon —
a black threat silently rolling
with rain in its teeth.