The Blowing Prophecy by Michael E. Strosahl Already the winds have chilled, already the leaves that waved through summer have dried and come loose. have been carried away to the fields edge to cackle with those who fell before, to crackle stories with the chaff of corn stalks who warn of the coming harvest that is sure to claim us all. The fragile bones of unshielded bean pods rattle as they shiver in the cool of a breeze, quaking with the rumble of the trucks and combines that will soon thresh out the gold grown from soil and sun and cast off the dust of shells and stems to be blown across cleared land as the blackbirds descend to look for the forgotten— those lost souls of autumn— before they too are chased, to flap away on the zephyrs of November. Michael E. Strosahl is originally from Moline, Illinois. After moving to Indiana, he joined several poetry groups and traveled the state meeting many members of
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.