Winds of Change

by Sheila Schofield

I set about my eco house with gusto.  
A rising helix of straw bales beneath
five oscillating wind sails.  Ingenious.

My sister was more gung-ho
when she got the bug.  A rustic chalet
with log walls.  Deep in the woods.  Snug.

He had to go one better.  Big bro.  
With his massive redbrick pile.  Soaring turrets,
the odd twisted spire.  Sheer arrogance over style.

Indestructible.  He boasted.  Smug sod.
One night the weather turned with dire
consequences.  A hurricane howled round

the full moon.  The log cabin soon became
a nubble of firewood.  The top-heavy towers
did for the faux chateau.  Razed to rubble.

My straw house took flight.  A whirling
quinquereme.  Landed right side up.  
Unscathed.  By a babbling mountain stream.  

Tell the truth I’m glad of the excuse
to get out of that place.  Apart from the awful weather,
rumour is there’s a ferocious wolf on the loose.

Chinese Proverb: When the winds of change blow some people build walls and others build windmills.