At War With A Dull Chainsaw

green wood and a chill wind,
the wind bringing in
a heavy storm, down across
the mesa. Aching arms and
a banged knee. I finally
turn the damn thing off,
look up and see the horse
looking at me, shaking his head.
He catches my glance and
looks up at a wild cloud
shaped like a savage woman
then turns and trots away
leaving me with a dead saw
dangling, as the wind sings
the most chilling hymn I ever heard.