Jack Scott writes

The Restless Model

My resting tree 
pressed like flower 
flat upon my window glass 
would not stay still last night, 
but wildly flailed and leapt about, 
thrashing all my hopes from sleep. 
Leaves and limbs danced madly; 
stronger gusts attacked the trunk 
in startling ways. 

At gray dawn 
gray tree still writhed upon a same-gray sky 
as something I should capture -
I've drawn the tree before -
charcoal on rough paper, 
but I'm not good at drawing wind.
Dance of the Wind and Storm -- Thomas Blackshear