Excerpts from "The Wind Our Enemy"

The wheat in spring was like a giant’s bolt of silk

Unrolled over the earth.

When the wind sprang

It rippled as if a great broad snake

Moved under the green sheet,

Seeking its outward way to light.

In autumn it was an ocean of flecked gold,

Sweet as a biscuit, breaking in crisp waves

That never shattered, never blurred in foam.

That was the last good year….

They said, “Sure it’ll rain next year!”

When that was dry, “Well, next year anyway.”

Then “Next—“

 ........................

The sun goes down.  Earth like a thick black coin

Leans its round rim against the yellowed sky.

The air cools.  Kerosene lamps are filled and lit

In dusty windows.  Tired bodies crave to lie

In bed forever.  Chores are done at last.

...will it never rain again?  What about

those clouds out west?  No, that’s just dust, as thick

and stifling now as winter underwear.

No rain, no crop, no feed, no faith, only

wind.  

By Ann Marriott  from The Circular Coast: Poems, New and Selected. Oakville, Ontario

The prairies in the 1930s suffered the double disaster of economic depression and drought. In this poem the poet vividly describes the effects of wind and drought on both the physical environment and on the people’s spirits 

"he that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap"
Ecclesiates 11:4