The Windmill

 

across the flat land
from the distant horizon
steady coaching breezes
shimmer the sheen away
off the canal waters

pulsing against the reeds
parceled along the banks
speckled tiny white blossoms
string up the slope
peeking through the grass of green

sheep contentedly graze
munching the verdant grass
their woolen white clouding
the dirt-brown facade
of a looming windmill

like a sentinel it stands
staunch and proud
ever ready to snatch up
passing winds trying to
evade its grasping netted fingers

marbled grayish clouds
blanket the sky
of this land of wind and water,
witnessing the stories of this people
harvesting the winds to do their bidding

the ages of the past windmill around
to our modern times
the hills again now canvassed with sentinels
to harvest the winds
and do the peoples' bidding