The Winds of March Burn
The winds of March in Texas burn. The cold air stings your cheeks and whips your hair around your face. The dirt from the barren fields blows across the sky, reminding all that the cold of winter hasn't loosened its grip.
The winds of March in Texas burn. All the plants are dead, and all hope of moisture is blown away. The leaves scatter. The trees fall. The plants are blown up from their weakened roots.
The winds of March in Texas burn. They blow in mightily, fiercely. When once they blew in the blessed rain, they now blow in the fire. They blow the fire with vengeance, stripping the land of everything. The winds care not for what is in the path.
The winds of March in Texas burn. They blow! They sting! They kill. They hurt.
The winds of March in Texas burn. They burn into our memory. They burn into the heart of who we are. They burn, but we blow along with them. We blow, and continue on our path the same. But the winds of March in Texas continue to burn.
