Watching Wind.

Watch­ing Wind.

Walk­ing this new land­scape,

I am made mind­ful of a strange­ness.

The very air around me sens­es its approach.

And so I stop. Stand still.

And there, Wait­ing, I Watch Wind!

See It chase Itself,

wet and win­try white,

across the moun­tain­tops to my left –

See It come rolling diwnbn,

crash­ing into my pres­ence,

and the land­scape, and the land.

It runs,

reck­less,

like some moon-made wave,

push­ing clar­i­ty before it,

and forc­ing truth to find solace

in what­ev­er crevase it can find.

The land, now obscured from pry­ing eyes,

grows damp with antic­i­pa­tion.

The land Falls beneath the wind’s white embrace.

It suc­combs quick­ly –

Qui­et­ly!

Like a lover long ignored.

I watch the Wind!

And still I stand –

But now …

Blown back.

Back –

To a sense of child­hood.

To a land where the smoke curls,

and the wind runs ram­pant through the for­est,

whis­per­ing of sun­light

and of secrets it could tell.

Blown Back!

Back to Sun­day School and Sum­mer –

Before breezes drew me out.

Then drew me down!

I felt the wind then, as now.

Felt its pas­sion!

Felt its cool­ness

come cas­cad­ing down around me

like the arms of a lover.

Felt –

Free!

Can you tell?

And now,

in this place where the land­scape

has no secrets left to tell,

I wait.

And I watch Wind.