Lost Causes

Lost Causes.

The ridge, where the land I see ends, is black
today yet illuminated by flashes of lightning
It didn’t take long for the lightning to strike
our village, plus Homeric thunder and much
rain and the ridge disappear in a miasma of
whirling, dervish dancing clouds.

The ridge is a foal point it is from there first
light comes at dawn and the promises of
a new day begins, behind lies a place called
Spain, a massive country, it will take weeks
to cross its plain, not I’m going there; I haven’t
got a horse and there are no windmills left