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,


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 –



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 –



Can you tell?


And now,

in this place where the land­scape

has no secrets left to tell,


I wait.

And I watch Wind.