This poem is from last year’s run of storms. Since we are between gusts of wind as I type this it seems timely! My Japanese maple and adolescent kumquat trees in pots blew over last night but I have propped them up and gave them other plant friends to huddle with in preparation for tonight. The skies in San Francisco are constantly changing, ever in motion. Love your family and friends and stay safe. Thank you for reading my poems. This one is from my manuscript for my fourth book that I hope will come out in 2026. Happy New Year!
The Atmospheric Rivers: San Francisco
Early morning of the night storm,
after the loud rain, winds are still blowing hard.
Trees flicker and sway like flames,
unpredictable, sinuous.
Their branches bob and wildly gesticulate
in the wind-roar.
Down the hill to the ocean
the waves roar in storm chaos
but to no rhythm.
Tarps covering equipment in the park
puff and flap.
Twigs, branches, needles carpet the street.
My neighbor’s delicate greenhouse –
in tatters of plastic ribbons,
plants, pots helter-skelter.
Ancient wooden fence slats blown down,
again.
After multiple winters of atmospheric rivers,
neighbors know to bring in grills
and plastic buckets, patio cushions
or they will sail and tumble to settle
two houses away or roll down streets.
A big branch crashes and I see it fall.
The attenuated trunks of Monterey Pines
and their top-heavy crowns
continue their thrash in the wind.
Wrung-out, homogenized gray clouds
appear to not move, just a gray screen,
a backdrop for the whipping trees.
Grasses tremble and flatten in passing blusters.
We are battered, sodden but still standing.
Heather Saunders Estes 