Windmill Ridge

What would we ever do without your towers?
A grace that stands against the cobalt sky.
Your silhouette could fascinate for hours,
the height and deft of muscle you supply.
 
A beam of gray floats silently above me,
suspended from a ribbon made of steel,
from left to right you swing around the birch tree
and carefully your gears unwind the reel.

While each of levered arms supporting lattice
of trusses and a maze of countless walls,
without your Herculean apparatus,
there wouldn't be skyscrapers, cities, malls. 
 
My eyes perceive the beauty of your profile,
and like the gentle birds that share your name, 
you rise above the turmoil and the junk pile,
with little thought of what the world became.

Published in "A Troupe in Masquerade" and "Eloquence"
By Jack Huber- All rights reserved.

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