Hell Wind

It's a hell of a wind
blowing hot up the gorge
down to the silver foam
ripping
up the carpets of grass
flashing leaves
at eyes screwed shut
blistering the skin
tapping at the
sensed promise
of calm tomorrows
collecting black
damned clouds
in a fist of storms

Where I live this wind is called the Moya and it really is as bad as all that!