Haiku Wind


In fury I sought
to outrun the wind, but I
scattered like pollen

High waves high wind

 January and February are typically months of strong winds. Off go the chickens, rudely forced from their night perches like tipsy dancers on an oil slick. Leaves tremble, trees once sentinel straight, bow to a demanding commander. High waves toss glass and pottery shards on the wind-swept beach, while volcanic sand blasts the shards to a brilliant sheen.

The Che is tossed like a toy boat

Howling winds invade the ferries and launchas like assaulting pirates. The Che is tossed around like a toy boat, resulting in a broken ramp when the hinges and chains were snapped like shoestrings. All transportation to and from Ometepe Island halts, stranding tourists and locals. Businesses waiting for deliveries, run low on supplies. Angel, the ice cream man, can’t deliver my ice cream sandwiches because they’re stuck on the mainland. The vegetable truck postpones a trip to our house until they refurbish their supplies. Plantain truck drivers nervously pace the dock hoping the overflowing truck full of plantains can be sold on time.

Our road stops beyond our house. Our neighbor needs a boat.

The beastly erosion ravenously eats away at the shoreline devouring everything in its path. Cradled in exposed clay banks, ancient treasures abound. Footprints of the wind flatten the sugar cane fields. A sail of a dugout canoe flies pregnant and engorged with wind. Sandinista flags flap with national pride. Green and pink plastic bags ( Nicaraguan flowers) drift on currents and collide in tangled splashes of color like an impressionist painting. The wind scatters swarms of complaining mosquitoes, while children shelter their faces grateful for the respite, yet teary-eyed from the blinding invasion of sand, dirt, and grit.

Nothing is sacred, nothing remains the same after a wind storm. The wind is a champion chameleon. ever-changing as it passes by, with the ability to make the earth bend to its forces, plead for mercy, and eventually surrender to its changes.

My only hope is that we can leave the island on Wednesday for our flight back to the states. If not gone with the wind, we’ll be seeking shelter from the storm.