Cycles

The wind, robust and raging refused
to be placated, shrugging away the
naked branches confronting it as it
tore its way through the forest canopy
in its ferocious passage rampaging
across the sky from night's deepest hours
on to the morning light of dawn and on
throughout the afternoon of brilliant
sunshine, it tore its way through the
landscape, ruffling the waters of the
muddy creek winding through the forest
and running rampant through the branches
and twigs long dead but resistant to decay
demanding they loose their holds and
obey the wind's imperative. Under the 
influence of the unruly wind all of the
forest detritus now litters the floor of
the forest, from the most delicate of
twigs to the roughest limbs loathe to
leave the sturdy trunks of still-living trees.
The mass of decaying fall foliage joined
now with the mass of the upper-story 
discards. And among them the dainty
construct of a migratory bird's home.