Scented oils, lavender among them, the breeze from the screened door offers a ride. Out-there can find no mercy from the wind, The winds of change I mean: Ill winds that blow only scurrilous defamation In thunderous heaps beyond reason. Yes, the lavender is soothing, perhaps a touch of grape; It mixes well with the smell of smoke from the fireplace. It’s safe here for awhile Should I not turn on what is happening. So many windows in this noble house, Built to be so, close to the ground where it’s easy to see. Windows to the world used to be few and guarded; Much was done to protect what was let in and let out. That has all gone, even the walls are windows, now. The world has become a glass bottom boat. I glimpse outside; the chipmunks prepare for winter. The leaves fall gently. I know what to expect of my winter. The other is more difficult to frame. I must leave here soon, But not before the oils have had their way with me. When institutions outlive their usefulness there must be change, From the hunter to the grower, from technology to humanity. And none go easy, the fight is always fierce, Last gasps of desperation from a broken system. Perhaps a sip of brandy, a junk of wood to the fire The light is dimming outside, Soon it will be time to sleep. Not so for the turmoil to come.