15 May 2014

The Wind



They wonder why I love to feel the wind.

Sensible, they all withdraw indoors
When it kicks up, and watch with eyebrows cocked
When I let loose my hair and grab a coat
And run outside to talk with it awhile.

I could explain to them—in fact, I've tried—
The thrill that prickles on my scalp and arms
At recognition in the faceless form
Of unseen fingers combing through my hair.

In a world of masses, virtual
And real, I, so individual
And small, seek to be found and touched, again, 
By something that will speak to only me.

And so I run outside, not just to find
The wind, but also to be found by it.

To feel new energy and confidence
In that which pushes just enough to make
Me feel alive, invigorated, strong
As the wind’s essence reaches out to mine.

Soothing cool, dusty dry or biting cold
Or, best of all, that restless limbo current
That sweeps the seasons into one another,
It lives, a challenge and a faithful friend.

That same wind that breathes to life the trees
And sends the grass blades shimmering in waves—
When she, our common Mother, blows, I know
Earth breathes again, and I fill my lungs too.

This is energy untamed, unbridled, 
Yet benevolent and personal,
As some primordial part of me remembers.
The wind blows all the world and, yet, remembers me.

I feel its touch and let it take my thoughts,
I share them all as with a faithful friend,
And it, a Woman wise, stirs with response 
And plants its silent wisdom in my heart.

To those who do not understand, I say,
Seek out the wind, stand in it and be blown.
Close your eyes, and steel yourself if needed,
And breathe it in, no, let it breathe through you.

And perhaps at first you will feel mostly
Cold, or hot, or dusty, or blown against;
But maybe you will find your feelings aired,
Your private thoughts stirred in refreshing ways.


And perhaps you, too, will love to feel the wind.

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